He wasn’t there for the beginning or the end. In the beginning, he was still a wild thing. Nothing more than a voice in the chorus of the Dark Continent, back when it was a thing of terrible beauty and attracted people like the old man; people who breathe

He stopped the shower and recounted his life, now Kin-less and plain.

Ed wants to watch the last half of the football game. His wife wants him to mow the lawn.

His wings were down when he got into the truck. It was a used UPS truck we’d bought from someone in Berkeley, and we painted out the letter “S,” so that it just read “UP.”

“Too perfect.” my therapist intervenes in assurance, “You did enough, really. More than anyone else would.” I know the subtext is that I possibly did more than I should. My appointment is coincidentally later that day, after his goodbye letter arrives in

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

Azure became silent. She never thought of her death before, nor thought about actually fighting creatures and saving people’s lives.

It's dawn. It's quiet on the pond in the Public Garden. The light is calm, the pollution is mild, and everything is still,except for the occasional cruising taxi. It's the beginning of spring-- tulips out, leaves…

Soft voices in private, in the street, city noise violence disappears she blinks her eyelids and I can hear the lashes intertwine and pull clear.

She wants her mother back and all I can give her is this—over and over. She doesn't want my mouth, wants no kissing anywhere even. Just this. Like this—quiet and rough. Quiet because her stepfather is napping in the bedroom next to…

All of those lovelies, pitched on the ground, ignored and ready to rot.

For Hector it was animals. Rats, dogs, fish, and quite often horses – sometimes even lions. But for Achilles, it was always dead bodies.

She drew her hands out of the chest cavity and looked at the clock. ‘Time of death,’ she said.

At night, instead of sleep, there were new and secret pleasures. Half-awake lessons in dexterity, in the limber material of human life.

Words are not like bricks. The neighborhood flowers from within the rituals that enframe the drinking of a macchiato in a café. Now it hovers over the page.