Most recent stories

A Beautiful Ancient Ghostly Passionate Spirit of the Stars

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Fabio has a soul of passion. A beautiful soul of passion. His passionate soul was so beautiful the ancient stars shone upon him and made him look like ghosts at night.

Lemony snickers on Route 66

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Went back to his cab and returned with a whip...

Souvenirs

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It is a hot August night — the same kind you remember from that summer after high school graduation. A cool breeze blows in off the ocean, sweeping across the boardwalk just hard enough to dry the …

Simpler Disasters

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In the afternoon, there was a certain time when the sunlight spilled through the windows in the common room and made everything look all bright and fresh and optimistic. If you ignored the patients and doctors milling about and…

Testimony

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The next winter the house burned down.

Our Kodak Moment

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“Should I go over?” Ma asked, wishing she could freshen her lipstick while finger-combing her frosted hair. “Sarah, fagodsake, let the man eat in peace. No one wants to have his picture made with food in their mouth,” said Pa.

The 83rd Meridian West

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The priest went into the place in those parts, the priest an old pear or grape gotten ripe and then moreso, but never actually expiring . He was hunched and it looked like he was broken at some integral part, but nobody could tell for sure where. One time, a bat…

Retinue

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the view is breathtaking here.

Mermaid

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While the other kids blew bubbles, Maddy clung to my neck. She didn't cry or scream, and she held on loosely, not with the death grip some kids have. For five Wednesday afternoons, Maddy wrapped her pudgy arms over my shoulders and rested her bottom on m

Love in the Time of the NASA Mars Rover

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I've lost the remote control to my brain

Here I Am

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Here I am in the city where we walked side by side, you had driven a great distance and lost your way somewhere where exits left the highway from both directions and unpredictably.

Yet More Band Names For Sale or Rent

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Random Access Hundred Dollar Bill Burning Question The Black Truffles Open John Queasy Sister Tortoise and the Hair Duck Tail and the Wrap Stiff Resistance Knee Jerk Reaction Tough Cookie Bar Code and the Illusion Erosion Eroti

Bitter Bits

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Entropy/ has my number.

Banging My Head Against the Garage Door of Religion

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The villagers smash in a garage door with their heads, causing some to bleed from the ears and mouth.

it snows

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I popped open the wine with a Nike shoelace, a trick I learned on the internet

Puddles

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The first inkling that I might be in love with Josie came at our high school senior day outing at, oh, what's its name, state park. I forgot, but it doesn't matter. She smiled, did a little wave and stepped away from her friends, lifted her sundress a little to keep it dry,…

Assiduity Nineteen

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Luv walks around touching everything with her little hands. Uzma follows behind her, talking sweetly, saying: "This is going to be your new home for a while, darling."

It is Written

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That Dagwood is not a real person but a story told in dots. That Blondie is a male fantasy and will one day find her Nora Helmer.

The Incident

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There are some I don’t recognize. My gaze lingers for a second. It’s bad business this.

Dancing on the Rhythm Bus–One Night after Leaving The Pyramid Club, 1991

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The next day I can’t recall at all, a waste, like the flash of twenty years of my life, faces that pass you like comets in some erogenous unnamed zone of night, but they got me in some isolation room with my wrists in leather restraints.

#26 Relation>Relation (A Poem)

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Something like: Answers to questions you might not yet have? [Answers we will try hard not to provide]

The First Day of Summer

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It is the first day of summer, a blue-green afternoon, and we sit beneath the English oak, Quercus robur. Everything has at least two names. It is the first day of summer, or the last day of something else.

Why I Gave Up on Math and Began My Big Fat Writing Career

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I’d met this crowd of drunken poets from San Francisco Even though this was smack dab in the middle of winter Smack dab in the middle of the flattened Illinois plains Why they all left San Francisco I’ll never completely understand But there we we

Mural, Mosaic, and Satori

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He thought of natural violence that had to do with the wind and the Atlantic Ocean. He thought of the Gulf Stream, that important title, that someone had shown him on a map and explained about in detail.

My Cousin & I

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My cousin and I walked around the village at night. It was beginning to rain, but we walked on. She had a jacket. I didn’t because of course. She said: “Sometimes I just want to know if he’s settling or he’s really in love with me.”

Reynee Deys and Reynee Nehyts and little dogs called Feydeaux.

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As I understand it, he crafted his art from sweat and blood; on parchment of living scrotum stretched over fretful porpentines; using a fresh dodo quill for each new preposition, and all that only on the first wet day after solstice in Yobhel. Something l

Art Survives

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Forget the salt erasure of Carthage,/ all the Meso-American artifacts/ smelted to float the Armada

Snow Angels (after Sandy Hook)

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The weatherman can't predict accumulation. He can only tell you it will be cold. Expect ice, wind, snow, expect delays. Your daughters play outside, dancing around the Evergreen, its branches bearing the weight of snow, its branches

The new year begins

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martyred young women lie in hospital beds

Family

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For instance, my sister's husband. If I say brown socks, yellow boxer shorts, fishnet undershirt. If I say plastic bag and two tepid beers. And a voice that glides to falsetto when he: you're a tad too obscene for my taste, Julia, while he tries to light the filter end of…