Turningturning the pale grey spot.She sits in her carin the parking lotwith the radio onleaning back picking a thin piece of skin from her finger.Turningturningthe seagulls move aroundand aroundabove the asphaltas though it was the wave,with…

we wanted summer: Distillers at Myhalyk's all those cancelled shows

I nudged my old man's boot from the coffee table and picked up beer cans. The boots were chewed-up and he still wore the shirt with his name, but he'd retired. There were little burn holes in it from welding and smoking. I emptied the mound of Lucky Strikes. He talked in…

I try to keep myself from weeping. We are all actors in a bad dream, that doesn’t go away in the morning

[FUCK!]

Since dawn doesn't understand my words, I will give them to the donkey, finely cut for him, let them ferment some time and add a few sprigs of lucerne. The donkey grazes in the meadow down the road and always welcomes me with a grin that displays his mauve gums and his…

Conveniently, the vistor had arrived when she was between tasks. It was still difficult for her to believe that it had occurred but she had the tangible proof there in front of her, within reach.

I wonder, just a thought Who even dreamt to Teach a pig Latin? And why a starfish Mirrors the stars We do not know There’s a whole lot To wonder about Like, I don’t know How about Cloud 9? I want to know what happened On Cloud

Prologue Late at night, an old man named Drevin Philpott stands on the deck of a cruise ship, looking out at the sea. The man is hunched and very small. His arms and legs are thin and he's got a bowling ball for a gut. He's standing on a chair so he can…

Based on length it looked like a note, lacking the deeper illustration found in full-fledged letters, but also missing were condolences and considering the subject, such sympathies might have seemed appropriate: Dear Mr. and Mrs. Madison, Katie is

There being so few venues for Lapp dancing in Lausanne in those days, Swish Suzi took a job in a Swiss sushi bar.

I no longer go for walks without my bamboo stick. Tightly held in my hand, thin and light, it beats the invisible particles which try to land on me and bite. My face is hidden as in shame under a rough gag, my hands are getting rusty, missing the touch of other hands. My…

The light on his face from a lamp Felt hat with a black band Scrunched down The nose creating a strong shadow With dark, straight eyebrows under the hat Red and orange beard Leaning forward at the café table, watching A damp curl of ha

I go down to pick up R and get a cartridge of black ink for the printer. It's an extremely pleasant summer day — early afternoon — and the air is exemplary: clear and sweet. So far so good. But as soon as I park and go to a nearby cash machine the fun begins.…

I feel more like sprouts than cucumbers. Oh, hey. Icame here to tell you something you already know, butmaybe can't remember. Or maybe it's me who is rememberingsomething I meant to say, but didn't. Oh, hey. There's alfalfa and mung bean. I love those skinny little…