Most recent stories

Apartments

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. . . there is nothing so selfish as sleep.

Déjà Vu Sur l’Herbe

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While watching the ever-present crowds passing by on my insides, I noticed, by accident, a man smiling who might have been me, not sure. Maybe I’m eating soap for the first time, because I am either frothing or foaming at the mouth. An

Twelve Pens

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Their last story

How To Dismantle A Bell

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Pictures of war correspondents from The Tribune, and colonial photographs in a fruit crate

Grateful

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What I had liked about Harvard before it showed itself in psychocareerist TV appearances and lid-down disingenuous printed psychotopical drills for maintaining crass privilege was the description online of its linguistics department.

Little, Big Dipper

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I considered kissing Christian. It wouldn’t be terrible. I mean, it might be terrible, but it wouldn’t be awful. His teeth were a little crooked but he didn’t smell or anything.

Ink Play

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Lying on a high seat in the south study, this is what I see:

Figures in Disquieting Landscapes

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Tentacles hold fast to the small/ thrashing thing they believe is true// which, devoured, once crushed/ completely still, turns into shit,

A Walk Among Pigeons

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A Walk Among Pigeons I know these pigeons. They were beggars in another life. I may have been among them once, but then I fell in love, and when that ended, my spirit floated free. And I became, though somewhat battered and b

We Are Not Alone

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The bank bought out the miles of land behind our property.

Open Face

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All the time I'm eating I can't help but think of the many different tuna melts I have ordered in diners and coffee shops and how each of them disappointed me...

Ghost Story

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They come to wipe themselves from my memory, but that, of course, is impossible. In this place, we are bound together, the long line of men who have killed me, and I.

Summer, 1966

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After my mother died, my father shipped me to my uncle's. He hadn't told me she was dying, so he could just mourn alone.Lena lived next door, Italian, my age -- which was ten -- beautiful. She was watched by goons in black suits. Her parents owned a restaurant. Across the…

Late Night Learning

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A wrinkled man lie atop an ivory-clad mattress, matched sheets covered his body, matched hair covered his head.

And so, like a kind of molting

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So for now, let the snow fall, but let it fall gently, each flake as a soft piano note

Alice Can Derail You in 3/5ths of a Second

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She connects to you via snarling vines & worm-woven tunnels. Drops Roman numerals

Calm Face

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I went for a walk to buy coffee, here's what I saw

No Face World Champ

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The last time he saw his psychic, she told him you're gonna die within six months.

Margaret & Beak Discuss Jazz for The Last Time

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He lit a slim, brown cigarette and drew on it. "But have you heard the flugelhorn? I mean, have you heard a particularly adept flugelhorn?"

Philip Guston, Painting, Smoking, Eating

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As far as I can tell, all he eats is wedges of cake from the plate on top of his blanket as he lies there in bed, smoking cigarettes and staring up at the painting of a pile of shoes. Or else this is a real pile of shoes building up beside the

Drunk and Disorderly

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Growing up in Mississippi meant growing up in a “dry” State which it was until 1966. Dry State meant selling alcoholic beverages, except for beer, is illegal. Period. By period I mean there was no distinction between selling whiskey and stuff to adults and…

Kathy

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"Happy New Year Willie."

Tale from a Möbius Strip

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Francesca is a sweet girl and everything, but her incessant doting on Paolo is best left private . . .

Damned Writers

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Didn't Max Perkins die, like they said?

Year End Closeout: Buy One, Get Seven Free.

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It’s not that cold but the cold that is/ penetrates layered cloth and soft skin/ to chill the blood in its capillaries

Tu me rends fou

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Feeding you a taste of croissant

Quitting

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—It’s difficult to say, he said. I have mood swings. Women don’t like that. They become upset.

The Pit and Philip Guston

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Above the chasm of life burn two fires at either side of the framed painting that stands on the pink and red plain. And inside the painting itself an orange rain falls, accumulating in a sea of red. Rocks can’t stand their small shadows anymore

Visiting Mom's Family in Oklahoma

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The strangers say hi at the Piggly Wiggly grocery stores, compliment my gold necklace, tell me I'm as beautiful as a Southern Belle, ask where I got my Gucci shoes. “Wow, New…

At A Loss

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“We need to figure out dad’s funeral arrangements.” Jack’s voice was monotone, as if it wasn’t sure whether it really existed. He paused for a moment; it lasted either a split second or a day. He couldn’t tell.