Most recent stories

Baked Beans

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mundane tradition

The Tea Tin

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It occurred last night. Today, in plaster and bandages, Mrs James lies still. Only her eyes and mouth move. She mumbles, whispers, about premonition. If she believed regrets were of any help to her now, she would deplore having set foot outside her door. She would deplore…

Illustrated Comments on the Apophatapataphysical Metrics of Cosmic Humor

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(the vast preponderance of dark matter and dark energy discernible in these latter days begins to suggest just how dark the humor of existence is) . . .

Disposable Pleasures

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when I take the time/now to remember/ you have become/a thousand page/memory book

In Real Time

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We are the same shits/ we were in the Bronze Age

How To Love Like a Raven Loves

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Giant Lobster Hands

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He sure can play piano With those giant lobster hands In his ratty raccoon coat And his old black cowboy hat They really do express What’s been hidden deep Inside his heart and limbs That makes every woman weep His boots of Spanish lea


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I made you a playlist


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“still watersrun deep” is not my portionborn to make waves Formed from the ocean

Maternal Possession

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At this point, the ashtray is piled to the brim with fags smoked clean down to the filter, some even one drag beyond, into rancid, chemical after burn, a taste erased only by sparking a freshie. So, freshies are sparked, one after another. Things are not going well.…

The Paris American

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He returned to America on the Fourth of July. Twisting in his cramped window seat miles above the Atlantic, he buckled up before the descent. “You can handle this,” he muttered. Hungover, still reeling from the dreamy head-turning experience of…


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The sound wasn’t coming from her dream, it was coming from inside the house. Somewhere outside her bedroom the noise was gaining power. Each pitch climbed higher with the urgency of a smoke alarm. With hands over ears and a hazy brain she got up from her

Arcana Magi Zero + Pure - c.12

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Everyone gathered around Karin with the Mana Spirits. She wrapped her arms around her waist, staring at the ground.

A bra is found in the woods

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These moments call for a philosophy of life.


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I am the boy with the olive skin who takes pictures of lewd sex acts performed by nobodies on stage at the Rock Creek Lodge Testicle Festival in Missoula, Montana.

A Terse Invocation of Cuttlefish

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Once the limits of human commitment to logic are conceded, cuttlefish may in fact be deemed superior logicians to all other aspirants.

End of an Astronomer

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The Tongues of Spring

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Another new spring and the leaves

Still Dancing b/w Smokey Conversation

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an engine stalls out in the parking lot the driver tears her skirt coming through the door

Acorn Gardening for Everyone

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I'd like to grow you a new flower. I thinkmaybe I just will. Right now. Here's as good a place as any. Well you'll probably never get to see it, but it will be there just the same and it will be all yours. Kind of like these poems that I make if…

Uniquer Than Thou

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brilliant green eyes

Brick Walls

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A flash in chapters

A Harsh Pep Talk

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You are nothing but a generic white man with average looks and intelligence, trapped in an indie romantic comedy. You sit in your overstuffed coffeeshop chair, drinking an impossibly befoamed cappuccino, the sleeves of your flannel rolled up to your elbows, mellow synth…

Sharp Nails

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Has it ever happened to you to have met someone and not recall who they are? You think of their eyes, hair, mouth, assemble them in a jigsaw to shape a recognisable image, add other pieces, build a place with familiar features, flip through moments in the past. There are…

Shot Story

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The earmuffs, a fine pale green, are tilted slightly to the left, threating to quash her in their magnitude. Her eyes, sharp sparkling blue, focus for a flash on him, looking for applause or assurance, or perhaps just approval. Safe,…

Three Flash Sonnets

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Poor souls. Likely they'll be poets.

Arcana Magi Zero + Pure - c.11

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Ayane took another look of the area and it was large warehouse. A loud thud vibrated outside.

Situation Room

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The president repeated, Nothing is happening, you see? Yes, Mr. President, I said.

reality concedes, for once

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beckoning with citrus streaks blue cobbled streets/and stuccos lit with gold lamps guide strollers here/to Place du Forum in Arles and this café . . .

"No lights shine out tonight high hung in heaven"

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(From Postcards fom a Railway Station (final poem)) No lights shine out tonight high hung in heaven: And the constellations like a dead man fall. No sight of polar eyes, whose sons are seven, And I stand unthinking and beyond it all I own it all a…