Most recent stories

The Esso Roadhouse

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The night we crossed the Madres my father stuffed his Stetson full of cash.

My Dog

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The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 36

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Vicki's scream echoed in Michiko's ear, an unwelcome earworm.

Off the Grid

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The slicing is easy. Blade barely touching skin, flesh separating into two clean parts. A breath, and blood fills in the space, an old friend materializing in the shadows. I am redolent with hope and desire. I can't stop thinking of how he excised himself from my…

The Birthday Jump

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I remember the first & only time I parachuted it was 1964 my 16th birthday a rite of passage if you will from the old man an aerospace engineer & former WWII B24 bomber pilot I practice-jumped from oil barrels taught how to fall back then when the time came…

My 27th Great-Grandparents

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Early Spring, 1075, Northumbria: Judith, too ashamed to speak, too angry to cry, waves her handmaiden away. She wants no food. Wind drives icy rain across the thickness of…

Apex

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You left paint and blood smeared on the wall.

Gone

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Erased. Like chalk across my body, a fine powder of forgetfulness, with a few swipes --- all those names and faces, gone. The letters burned.

Delphi and Parlor Games

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Ghosts// and the voice of God/ never actually visited you

Locations

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They confess love for Karaoke and metal rock. They have purchased expensive Stratocasters and Zildjians.

Camp Atheism

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We are not alone, not as alone as we think.

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 35

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I visited his loft last week. There were many exciting new pictures. Francesco was your main money earner before, now he will be again.

Cockroaches From Heaven

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Cockroaches may be falling through the holes in the floorboards of heaven, but we will not be disturbed. We are agents, free and clear, even if a little bit mean. I want to quit worrying about money, but the angels upstairs won’t let me. The

Feline

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The Gate Before

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You were always goingto connect the dots. I was always goingto overfill a bucketwith poems. You wouldeventually drive off wavingyour hand like astar on a spring. I'dshoulder up another notebookfor the walk. Myhand would rather holda pencil. Yours wouldaccept a kiss…

at night, she comes

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My head was swimming with nicotine, the coldness of the first snow, and unfinished love thoughts.

Artesian Moon

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If you want job security on this planet, you'd better study art.

Survival

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When nothing's coming in All I have are fragments Cloudy memories Uncompleted projects Disappointments loom large and threaten to define me I am only as good as what I produce And now I feel empty So how do I shine How do I find the spark that…

Angel's Return

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I never looked at her face.

It Isn’t Personal. It’s Business

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because you pay/ for it to matter to me.

Honey Bee Men

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"...she's been seeming like she's been dreaming while awake lately..."

Sunny Side

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I was so used to the silence of late summer afternoons, when I could roll my hoop through the empty, sunlit piazzas without meeting another shadow, that at first I mistook the footsteps for the beat of a metronome spilling through an open window.

Not Creative

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a poem about things exploding/burning down/scattering for miles.

Thirteen Ways of Looking at Blackbeard

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Across the placid sea/The only moving ship/ Was eyed by Blackbeard

Four Songs

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Confessions of an Impersonal Spectator

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This is why I’ve decided to assign myself a position in life similar to that of Stuart Sutcliffe with the Beatles.

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 34

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—Now that’s a hell-of-a-painting, Frank, he said. Those colors are engaged in warfare. How the hell did you do that?

Ajloun Castle

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the wind mistook your arms for wings

Our Handsome Whales

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are speaking clear enough, through their open and bleeding wounds, for you to at least try and understand. Waving their massive arms like living lighthouses, bobbing in and out of the floundering waves, they are splashing out an…

The Gallery of Wounds

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The blood is memorable/ as is the copper taste of that/ momentary certainty of lockjaw.