Most recent stories

Balm (excerpt)

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my second language / to silence / plainsong of / the breast

The Heart Jar

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The diner on the corner is one of those Disneyfied modern cut-outs trying to mimic the actual thing but failing utterly. The street, a vein of hipness running through an Ivy League campus that is still trying to cling to a time when it all meant something

Reading at the Anatomy Museum

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If you know how, all bodies can be read like books, like poems, like scraps of song

Abandonment

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The ideas just came to them. "Nothing On" consisted of a television on a small stand, playing an endless loop of "Jersey Shore." "Shopping Bores Me" was a men's flannel shirt from American Apparel on an otherwise empty rack.

Albert Walks

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Albert Walks When Albert walks he is astonished. Ripe fruit falls to the ground at his feet, offering itself. The earth's tremor rumbles, celebratory, through his mended shoes and up his shins. The birds darting through the sky above …

Anniversary Dinner at Denny's

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A mile down the road, they found Denny’s. It was only four in the afternoon so there was no wait and the couple sat right away.

Lobster's Alive

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Oh, no! the lobster’s still alive staring out at us from the freezer at the fish shop sitting on top of the other dead fish and ice its large claws taped shut with orange rubber bands one eye stalk moving occasionally wonde

Love, Story

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I don’t read fiction he said dismissively and it was such a profoundly ridiculous denial of something so essential like saying I don't breathe air or I don’t make love or I don’t like music for fuck’s sake that all I could think to say in response

Golgotha

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They were starting to get winded. The boy, his father and his little brother were hiking up a hill, cutting a diagonal path through hay-colored grass towards an outcrop of craggy boulders below the hill's summit.

Black Widow

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Hair as black as a Raven’s wing. Dark eyes. You wore a black dress, too, my favorite color.

Blame It on The Good Stuff

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That was nearly two years and a thousand smiles ago.

Gastronomy

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your olive-pitting thumbs

Waiting for a Terrorist

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Tents staked in desert land, a muted building of parched earth, in a thirty year old city with a napalm birth, they wait among gravestones in the sand.

Control

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The eater's pose extending the fork in hand toward the bowl wherein the appetizer lay readied. Salad, carefully configured for its purposes mixing vitality with pleasure which should not be differentiated, don't you agree? Colors selected for their…

Shedding the Skin of Past Lives

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I bow my head and shed the antlers of past lives I no longer butt heads with the universe but I miss my curse and can’t do worse I throw myself in reverse and rehearse the early scenes of science and my full meat diet that sent

prima vera

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a road moment

Osmo's Bells

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Worldwide, sturdy bells quickly superseded decomposable, and edible, cheese balls as jesters' preferred cap ornaments.

Pleiku Jacket

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Our flag-draped coffins float to the surface of an uncharted sea and we appear together—patriots both—on the cover of Life Magazine.

Sweet & Sour

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Since the divorce had gone final, the matter settled once and for all, he’d taken to a masochistic bingo of sorts.

Saturday Birthdays (from FATHER MUST)

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When his mother was all dressed up on New Year’s Eve, and his father, even thought they had tickets for the dance, announced to her he wasn’t going to go, Johnny had gone into his room, put on a white shirt, a dark suit, his dress shoes, and a clip-o

The Kid With the Hair

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threads of Cocoa Krispies

The Letter

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I knew nothing about the letter at first. When I came in that morning and smiled and said good morning, it was a genuine smile and a heartfelt good morning. But the letter, which had arrived the previous afternoon, was already doing its corrosive work of

The Chair of Rejection

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Before I published anything in a literary magazine, I was rejected by literary magazines, dozens of them, and these rejections gave birth to one of my more strange and long-lived art projects.

Trust In Wolves

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All wolves, my child, want to be eaten.

How Many Remain

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how many lighted days remain

Give Tongue

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"Penning a slight of tongue well versed or worse, a salacious lie..."

The Poetry Section

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In the poetry section, no one talks except to say, "excuse me," or, "wow," or, "amazing," with the second 'a' stretched out like a blacktop highway. But mostly they say, "excuse me." and that's only because someone dressed in a corduroy jacket is …

Buzzard

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what lies, in my eyes

Slightly Broken Sonnet

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It's late it's early love youfuck me the difference isin the garage boxes sitbehind me in the trunklike passengers beside melike pedestrians in frontof me I choose our directionwhat stays what comes whatis what and how did I end upin the garage in the first placein the…

We Loved We Laughed We Cried

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My wife broke the news to me. She enjoyed it, too, I'm certain of that. It was a juicy piece of gossip.