The last time they made love she could feel the hint of pain and loss which would become her.

My name is Lu-chen Wyatt, and I have watched this tomb for seven years with undying loyalty. Tomorrow I am going away, and I wish to set down the story of my leaving and to say goodbye to Set-Yi, whose burial place has been my home for so long.

There is no life here, only a bleak slab of frozen desert and a sorrowful wind that calls for me to venture out.

Five poets were beheaded that day, their heads rolled off the scaffold to the dirt and faced skywards; the heads were smiling

They always referred to her as the possum woman back home. She scoured the streets just as the sun fell into deep slumber behind the sentinel, sun tanned shoulders of the mountains encircling small town anywhere.

your light is gonna last me through the week

Funny, funny stuff. She'll be here all week--be sure and tip your speech therapist!

“You don't know what it's like, to be an old man, to be alone man, behind blue eyes,” he said to the downtown city sidewalk. The sidewalk said nothing. People with someplace to go rushed by him, not stopping.

Neither of us thought of real winning. We set about brilliant losing, dark angel forms of luck and greed, the desire, the craving, the need to lose so strenuous that one wins; we tied at thirteen.

Do you remember who I am yet? I remember the first time you made love to me. It appears I was one of the lucky ones … it wasn’t in a car, it wasn’t in your Dad’s boat, underwater, or any other weird place you've written about. It was actual

cymbals guy — another way of saying hey turdshitface haul your skinnyass to the front of the bus.

I am not a gun, but I think I may have pulled a plastic movie trigger in some kind of real world action before, accelerated, pivotal scene, one way or another before, this new frame came into its paranoid view .You see? I am not a plastic water bottle,but I…

“Listen, Mother – you’re my ticket out of this burg and I’m not about to cash it in!”

I remember one time when we played strip poker in the basement of your house on Euclid Avenue, me, Terry, you and Andy. And I remember drinking lots of wine and fixing the deck so that you kept losing and having to take off all your clothes, and still you

Bald on top and wavy curls projecting from both sides. He looked at me and his eyes rolled round and round in opposite directions. He asked, "What did you think of the play, clown hater?"