Most recent stories

What They Heard

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There's nothing so new in the doing that it needs to be talked about in just spooky or secret ways, by you, me or anyone else tonight, but it might feel real good sometime and perfectly fine to hear…

How Light Loves You

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The cataclysm of all those photons/ mad to be a part of you

Summertime

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I am so happy to see winter almost gone

The Class of '61

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My head is nailed to yesterday.

Eve's Curse in Silence and Sorrow

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To touch our skin was filthy, to spread our legs a mortal sin. You closed the keyholes to keep us apart, so we used them to keep you out and keep our secrets to ourselves.

Not If, But When

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She tells me I have to face the fact that I have the heart of the Tin Man. I know the story. He had none. She is very sensitive and I have to measure my remarks because words bruise her so easily. So, I…

Rubber Chains

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He turned metal chains to rubber with the force of his mind. He prepared tacos for the paperboy.

Land's End

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Wearing Land’s End clothes at life’s end Driving around in circles in your Codgermobile with 3 good hubcaps. Who wouldn’t want to steal that?

The Anniversary

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I don't want you like a tiger doing homework in the circus

The Small of Her Back

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The small of her back, where the downy hair stands upright like wheat in the summer light.

Poem: Admonition

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"Why, before the summer has passed You won’t remember her name. . ."

Cut-offs

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The sauce is you

Three: A Heavenly Mansion

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She went up first, I followed, a respectful three paces behind. Now, I know what you’re thinking: I was perfectly placed to steal a quick, if innocent, glance, and she would never see. The house is a center hall colonial, and there are no mirrors on the s

Beach Tale

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I should have worn shorts.

Parking Garage

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It's that quiet comfortable darkness. One should feel it often and necessarily.

Feeling Marlene (from OPEN CITY Magazine Number 16)

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I got your card in the mail via my ex-wife in Saskatoon. On it you wonder where I am, if I am still writing, and if I have any stories I would send for you to look at because you think I should be published, too.

Death by Dinner

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I can't believe it's Frankie, but there he is at a table on the far side, just in front of the big picture window. I hold the menu close to my face and peek again over the top, watching as he reaches under the white linen tablecloth to plant…

Rome Ants In The Sky

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~!~

Trail, Pool, Snake

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Early on, I looked for work; I walked the want-ad trail. Shuttle-driver, apartment leasing expert, laundry technician, account executive, PHP developer, dog sitter, sleep study subject – I would do anything that seemed steady.

Dead Man Sleeping

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Joyce Addleberg hated sleeping alone, so when her husband died in his sleep one night, it was only natural that she kept him around.

Diary of a Bolshoi Potato Dancer

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“Is that an erect annual plant in your codpiece, Mr. Flax, or are you just glad to see me?”

Polaroids at the Old Place

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Can I still be in your pictures?

The Goldsmith's Anniversary

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He searched for something deserving of the word “bestowed,” something so rare as to horrify the clerics of ordinariness.

Chapter Two: Oracle

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The first thing I saw was a sandal, but it didn't exactly look priestly. It was golden and glowing, and the foot it was strapped to had red painted nails. The straps wrapped around her ankles, and up her slender leg, tied off in a bow below the knee.

The Silken(revised version)

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tentacles of stringy rains opens up the stage antics for this common February day to the fidgety audience at hand but it appears that they just won't be able to grab on, not this time. The familiar grumpy wind with…

History Channel

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Some of the notes allude to how the ineluctable modalities of the visible and audible are transformed by the experience of hanging in a transparent egg half out of a B-17 at 10 thousand feet waiting to be spattered like paint.

Dialysis

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On the days I wasn’t there, my insides felt like paper-mâché.

Zapruder Film

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But there it was, amid the “junk” set to be thrown out with the rest of his childhood, opened accidentally to the page of his Indiana Jones Action Journal about his winter formal when he was sixteen.

Blues Machine

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Rockin' Joe Heath stumbled into the stairwell in nothing but a black Zildjian t-shirt, shushing himself, trying to see right, pounding head. He recalled the old lily pattern of the wall­paper and something about the tattered edges…

Facsimile in Boots

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There she is. A paper doll of me. The dress, the lilt, the self-hatred. The crowd thins and swells in want of a scene. Conversations begin, pretend, then halt. My gin and tonic sweats into my hand and I lick at the…