But if he's been photographing her for almost thirty years, there must be close to 11,000 images. During the session, they don't speak. And, after so long, words are not really necessary.

That was when we discovered we could make one shadow jump right through another and come out whole on the other side. Our shadows were indestructible. It was one of those moments of discovery maybe only gallons of pink Chablis could bring on. Or dope.

I dreamt once a child’s drawing of a house all scribbly black crayon swayback roof crooked chimney. God, do you remember how cold it was that night?

I usually idle by Spades Check Cashing on 8th Ave. and catch folks that way. The Homestead cops, they moved stations from a little up Amity to down on 7th, which is closer to Spades, but they leave me alone. I've drove jitneys almost ten years. Only been cited twice,…

On weekdays the two walked,The man in front and the boy always behind,Away from the borrowed house and the kachina dolls inside.Neither of them said anything.The boy thought of things that just wouldn't come out,and the dirt road was always just wet enough thatThe man's…

I am from slow diagnoses, impatience and parents skeptical of New York City doctors. I am from tall buildings, yogurt shakes, and envy for my brother's asthma machine. I am from here, stay away from there, don't get too close, be careful at the edge, the…

1Paradise Lost is cast into the lake of fire. Satan tells John Milton to rewrite it in 140 characters or fewer.2Filippo Marinetti languishes in a dismal rural idyll. His hand, possessed, scrawls euphonic odes to the moon with a quill.3Henri Michaux floats through the…

Mulvihill suspected, but could not prove, that the connection to all three murders and the three men was a painting

‘what’s the hassle kiddo, chopping meat is fun, come here and listen to the music of the chop, the sound of steel ripping through air, slicing through flesh and hitting wood, poetry I say’.

"There's a guy and he's standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon."

What if she doesn't take me seriously? My sweaty testimony wedged tight behind the tragic I used to think was honest? What if, right? What if . . . Isolation Real men feel that, right? They have …

Walk alone at night, quietly. Pause for eye contact with raccoons and night cats, your drunk self, and lights in the graveyard. Don't apologize for it in the morning. Instead of the shame you feel for one time acting selfishly and chasing a future, say…

Somewhere a banjo, somewhere a hound.

It is our gift-- the knowing/ without knowing--/ that allows us transport,

I do that now. And I shiver. My mom's eyes don't seem to have any expression. They look lifeless. Her eyes look... dead. Stop it, Alison, I tell myself. You're being stupid.