Most recent stories

Eight-Legged Freaks

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I’ve just moved to New York City and, somehow, Scarlett Johansson is at the same party I’m at.

Bookmark

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Some books are like old friends and when you read them, you no longer feel alone.

The Last VooDoo Doll

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So I lopped off his head and reworked the creation...

Beatnik Blonde

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everything plus zero stays the same

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 10

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O’Toole signaled again with two fingers. The night was young. Suddenly I had to go home to my lovely Penny. All I knew was I didn’t want to end up drinking at a hole like this with my head down on the bar.

Comic Superhero

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Andrew had learned the art of being a chameleon at school where his school uniform provided an exoskeleton. Beneath was no costume, just the fragile skin of adolescent ego.

From The Doctor, With Love

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I love how you touch me, your hands warm on my shape...

Woman at the Bar

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I saw a woman / at the bar tonight

Sea Shell

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Useless.

Time

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Time is the / gravy of the bloody roast beef of / emptiness.

Even My Air Guitar Is Lame

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I had the hair of a metal god, cracking it against the air whenever the stereo belched fists.

The Underwear Thing

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Our banter has shifted, like wading from the shallow to the deep end. He taps his foot. “Your underwear reminded me of my grandma’s underwear.”

Dear Lieutenant General Fred

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But I am delighted to inform you that through our computer added softwareness, YOU have to been chosen as our Nigerian contact for the transfer of fundage used to research global warming. How ‘bout them apples?

A Little Fishing

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Len and I sit on Harpo's porch, drink beer and gab. It's hot, even for July. Len and I joke and laugh, and Harpo stares off into the middle distance.

Will #17

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I want crazy at my funeral. I want clowns, a petting zoo, fireworks, craps tables, male and female strippers, and a three-person band composed of old men wearing striped vests, black pants, and straw hats: one plays a banjo, another on tuba, and…

Survivor

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The tubing unwound in her hands, unreeling like a garden hose... it wasn't always that easy...

Juan Looking Good

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Juan’s tío, Richard, who works for the city and is the kind of Mexican who thinks he isn’t, took care of the lawyer. Juan checks himself in the mirror, didn’t know how good dressing fancy would feel.

Pain

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Everything I understand / is in danger.

A Knobby Thing

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She feels ugly but ready for anything.

Six Short Poems

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Can't please everyone / Or sail in all directions / Sail on / Stay the course / Still the ill-pleased storms come / To suck the wind from my sails

Selfgod

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Loving himself. Loved by no one. Loving no one.

Breath

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And here you are. Before your time. Behind the glass.

Stations of the Cross

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“Jesus fall the second time. You want a map? Ten shekels.”

Another Etiquette Lesson from the Jungle

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I lie on the floor of the hut and for some reason I start to think about the Harvest Days carnival and that game where you have to toss a dime in a dish to win a stuffed animal. Next thing you know I’m a little tiny guy in there in that world of plates

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 9

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Warren Jeffries left this girlfriend of his named Karen, who was also a poet, and overnight she announced she’d gone back to being a lesbian, she’d so had it with MEN! She did a reading of her new series of Sappho poems at Cody’s Bookstore,

Knowing

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She was a big woman, a massive, misshapen tree of a woman, wrapped in a rain-coat the size of a tent. She wore a cap on her head, its beak peeking out, drops of rain slipping of its edge like so many pieces of transparent candy.

ALL THE REPORTERS WANT WAR

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The countdown is on and daily the propaganda gets more and more aggravating It appears at times that the news media dictate and orchestrate more that just report on events of diplomatic shock. A huge effort has gone in to covering this coming war and it…

Four Stories I Cannot Write

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“Per­haps instead of a book I could write lists of words, in alpha­bet­ical order, an ava­lanche of isol­ated words which expresses the truth I still do not know” — Italo Calvino albu­men before child grit secretlyshame august blood …

Doreen - III

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Male genitals were usually portrayed diminutively in classical art. After forty minutes in a drafty room without cloths on, I was beginning to understand why.

Bubble Bath

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You wouldn’t believe an organ the size of a heart could scream like a nine-year-old sissy girl but mine did.