I'm in awe of her frankness, how she takes my breath away, how I wish to rush off with her to a splendid hideaway where only the two of us touch the grape-stained mountains and the cerulean sea, wild blades of grass quivering with the breeze. Sometimes th

At dinner in Marrakech, Namid danced on the table, waving a white napkin, propelled by jetlag and poor judgment.

I am alive, and I am hungry. Angry, I want more. I am not content with what you're offering me. Forty hours a week, two weeks vacation. A mortgage and car payments. Wife and kids, a dog in the suburbs. It's all incredibly unexciting, unsatisfying.

The throw was the last leg of a triple play.

The tall, standing woman with bright red lipstick, elegant at one time, you could tell, responding, “She has dementia,” pointing at her brain. “She was a Holocaust survivor.” And the one they’re talking about turns as she’s pushing her wal

proving little more/ than the player’s keyboard dexterity.

I ordered biscuits and gravy at the Sunset Grill, Just before the Amber Alert

He held my little hand in his and guided it through the dirt.

Hi Zin, Really enjoyed seeing you again at Miranda Sinned. Looked like you enjoyed doing the St. Vitus. Don't ask me how but I got rum and coke on my panties. When I got home, I had a craving for tongue and my honey's talking squid, later, some fruit loops without milk. Q.…

It’s always daylight there My brother comes running down the sidewalk holding out his arms and calling my name He’s wearing suspenders. He’s gotten thinner in heaven He embraces me warmly wanting us to be friends I give up trying to re

Marie shrugs. “Maybe she’s just late. Come on, let's wait by the jungle gym.” She runs over and starts climbing. The jungle gym is closest to the path that goes into the woods and down into the canyon. She has to get him into the woods somehow.

Like all professors, I'm required to maintain office hours to help my students so I'm at my desk every fourth Tuesday of months without an "r" in them from 10:30 to 11:00 p.m.

What can I say about my brother, Stroman. We are twins and we hate each other. He is an honest, brave man with scruples. He is full of bullshit. He thinks I am morally twisted. He probably has a point there, but I don’t see what that has got to do with

500 miles all the way from Omaha nine hours on the back of a flatbed truck

This is what my summer has come to: me, out of a job, aimlessly driving around the city looking for places to write, places to read, places to occupy my time.