The scent of fresh cut grass./ The idiot sense of accomplishment/ mowing the lawn can bring.

Larry works the concession stand / near the pier.

Our flesh was on fire like a flute with wind, or a little reed next to the dried river. I was like a voyeur whose heart was a sponge, brushing up against all that disturbed man. I was only and ever the flower of our notorious youth, aware of more than the

I am one of 14.8 million Americans affected by depression or about 6.7% of the American population 16 and older. My episodes are cyclical and my first episode was at age 16. I assumed it was because my mother was sent to Auschwitz at 16 …

I had laid my hand down hard upon a long forgotten shard of an old coke bottle. The cut is deep.

The understanding we made was neatly wrapped up in its own blue tissue cocoon like a neatly rolled joint and dumped unceremoniously into the forgotten past like a plate of leftover digitized lies. The lid was slammed shut. Time passes too tightly. And you …

1. It was never me operating Jack Ketch. I let someone else do it. Never saw his face. He smelt of burning oil.2. I stole from the kids' parents. While they watched the show, I sent my mates round to pick their pockets.3. I gave the arresting officers nightmares. It was…

The water lapped against the sides of the small boat, their rhythm all that I could think of. Sweltering rays beat down, frying my flesh, the insipid salty breeze that occasionally stirred my only relief from it. Gulls circled overhead, like white ravens,

It’s funny how white people are so reluctant to reveal their ignorance of hip-hop culture. “There are a number of robust on-line tools that can assign randomly-generated rap nicknames to members of the federal judiciary,” I told him.

POETRY IS DEGENERACY / IS A DISGUSTING HABIT

My husband waits for him to hurt himself. The boy drinks red wine between movements, Staring hypnotically at the back Of a girl’s head.

She tossed the big bird into the air. It wobbled, then flew away.

A year ago, my neighbor was a sexy graduate student in fashion design, sounds perhaps shabby, yet if it is, then we in the Middle West are all shabby. That girl's father graduated from high school with Bob Dylan in Hibbing, not entitling her to a child.

This was my father's diagnosis of my perpetual misery as an adolescent. “If I thought as much as you do, I'd go crazy.” Probably true as he was an Auschwitz survivor. To him, it was important to substitute…

while the fat stars stand out in the cobalt night.