Most recent stories

The Color Cream

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Fire Alarm

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You snore and the house is safe again.

Unconditional

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My mother is a psychologist. By that I don't mean one of these feathery voiced therapists who nurtures you through grief or self-doubt and has infinite faith in the human spirit. She's not the kind of psychologist. Not at all. She's the kind who develops

poem in ten syllables concerning ontological equivalence at the end of the modern era

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technophilia? . . .

A Release of Sorts

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For the new year, I´ve given up palm oil. Made shopping a whole lot harder. Damn orangutans tugging at my conscience.

Brucey

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I kept my seat. Passengers packed in the aisle weren't moving and until they were, neither was I.

Kunderesque

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Rivers of the belly

Guy Who's in Love With Modern Notions of Love and a Good Thing Happens to Him After a Bad Thing

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Vince did a dance of love and courtship around the Camaro moving crab-like around it with his arms hung low, raising them only to lower his sunglasses.

A Bite-Sized Piece

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But conversation, like music, is measured in beats, and he waits for more than one, and loses the moment.

Excuse Me, There’s Some Suspicious Activity In the Men’s Room?

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Someone has locked themselves in the large stall They’re smoking one cigarette after another And pulling long stretches of toilet paper off the rolls God only knows for what purpose And yelling for anyone who’s outside the stall To go get them

The Ardennes: Two Vignettes

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In the Ardennes for the the first time...

in the sun

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an artist sits in the sun moving fingers through long hair

Agent 3

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i beat myself back into the littlon fish door, the algae sealing strip connecting as it does. Eons ago, i fell, and andy and i met with hands of crab and lobster in an eleborate room benaeth here, but I know very well, i am not him

Objects in a Field

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Cacophony of an engine-braking eighteen-wheeler/ scatters the crows to fences, trees and wires/ in a startling chant of caw, caw, caw.

BUNGEE

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The drop is like a hangman's drop, an executioner's, but farther and longer, perhaps three or four seconds.

Variations on a Theme

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Your confidence would amuse me.

Dubious Appetite

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Looking back now, examining from a distance the sequence of events I failed to connect as anything beyond queer happenstance...

People Get Haircuts

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like they are trying to not get noticed by fickle death. It clearly marks them in a targeted way. Very ironic. Here's the only message I want you to ever have from me : scramble like a quick monkey with a stolen banana in his tiny hairy…

A Worthy Caws

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It started with crows. I'd walk the switchback trail to the top of the park with its outlook of the city and if I didn't see any crows I'd whistle and they'd come swarming from everywhere. I'd give the peanuts a toss and the crows would caw their heads off and peck at…

Mountain

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The sun placed itself upon a mighty peak and showered a million peaks with it's dazzling gold.

The Night Before School Starts

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A familiar ritual by now...

Contours

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The oceans have no sides

Arion, the poet

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Nearly everyone knows of that celebrated poet’s story coming down to us from classical Greek mythology: the tragic tale of Orpheus and his descent into the underworld to rescue his beloved Eurydice. Well, there’s a much lesser known story of a legendary 7

The Museum of Inner Light

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On the way to The Museum of Inner Light Expect delays Expect bumps in the road Expect potholes and such Expect a murder of crows Rolling acorns over the rooftops But what I want to know is who Who eats a butterfly On the way to

Sometimes, Death

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He was surrounded by bats and stalactites and skeletons greeted him and dead celebrities moaned and neon signs -- props from defunct game shows -- were hung up as far as the eye can see.

The PRIMA DONNA & THE CHAUFFEUR: A Love Story! (in full, living colour!)

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You shouldn't look at my undies! I'm gonna kill you if you look at my undies again, you goddamn bastard! :)

Paleo Prophet

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We are insatiable

solace

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the frost has made all tender greens bow

Fly Fishing For Bats

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then something like a shark gnawing on a harpsichord. Her drum kit apparently is an entire laundromat. A pocketful of marbles spilling in rivulets, down a set of narrow linoleum steps, merrily as two warblers splashing in a birdbath. several octaves below

Tough Guy

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He remembers his father’s concrete slab hands. Balled into fists they resembled kettlebells.