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My Children in Times New Roman

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This test should not be a riddle, it's a simple yes/no. The answer should settle curiosity with an image. One line or two, plus or minus. I say something like this, and the customer service rep asks me to hold.Thing is, I know the answer. I'm moody. My breasts feel like…


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over tea & saltineshe read melike an obituary

The web never spins itself, but it grows...

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Brian never noticed time in the presence of things like this, the miracle of witness.

In tidal relief

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the world slips under the waves

What they don't say when they talk about suicide

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They don't talk about how, while you are in / your apartment waiting for the overdose to kick in, / you will open your laptop and consider / which music you want to hear while you die.

First Person

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We're each other's inside out. (100 words)


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The whole ceiling was one big-ass mirror, and I looked okay for looking like shit.

The Painter, Vandalism, and Debts to the Universe

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Some people are simply parasites.

The Dusty Attic

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Frail lips created the shapes of vowels, the vestiges of make-up in the cracked grikes, her eyes as a baby’s; comprehending, yet not.

Glad the Moon Worked the Night Shift

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When we were seventeen, after her dad, the preacher, finished his Sunday night church services that required our mandatory attendance, we'd walk to my car in the pasture-turned parking lot holding hands and stop at the passenger-side car door to kiss deeply, get…

Dumb Luck and the Fall of Empires

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At some point we all reach the end point/ of something. Something important/ if only to our fragile self esteem.

D.H. Lawrence Ghazal

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How many shadows in your soul? Close your eyes, my love, let me / make you blind as the wings of a drenched, drowned bee.

Little Tech Puppies In the Artisan Beer Hall

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Little tech puppies, well compensated for code/ that outsourced laborers will realize in supercheap,/ superchipped gewgaws, sip artisan beers

Advice For Aspiring Writers

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Published writers will tell you that the most important thing you can do as a beginning writer is to know your markets! So this month, we'll talk about two of the markets open to you and your riveting but as yet unpublished prose -- Fling Magazine and Clubhouse…

Written Six Weeks Before

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March 16, 2006 My mail, e-mail, and phone calls go from the ridiculous to the sublime. Apologies for the cliché, but I can't resist its perfect applicability: In my mailbox today yet another catalogue of boob jobs in bikinis and an invitation to explore…

The Professor Goes a Bit Bonkers at the Chalkboard

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Each second what do you want to be? How do you get there? If you could give a listened to message to the whole world what are you going to say? I open my stupid mouth and more poetry comes grinding out, even hello looks like a spewed bunch…

Using Proven Scientific Methods to Get Published

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I have a ninety two percent rejection rate.

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 1

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Before he was Francesco Martinelli

Bacon's Blood (19)

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Heads turned to watch the doorway.

Moi et La Vache Qui Rit

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If you are in quest of escape from Philistines the surest refuge is to be found amongst cows. Thomas De Quincey

Bacon's Blood (20)

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Gobble and Blow make asses of themselves in court.

A Story with Tahini in It

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"What do you mean..."

Song Without Wonder

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What I’ve got is priceless, but no one wants it. Hmmm. I wonder if I can give it away, or have to haul it to the dump? What I have is priceless. Priceless. What I have is priceless, but no one wants it.


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this bleeding sun, clove studded & seedless


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Betrayal of course is the great human crime. As I found out when . . . .

The Bird Nests of Lascaux

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With their brightly-colored bits of found string woven into the walls of their nests to teach their baby birds what the worms of the future will look like. Somewhat like the cave paintings of Lascaux for early man in France, when hunti

The Power

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the silence of the hardwood floors blisters into fragments

Uncle Waldo?

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Over his usual ham sandwich and Pepsi for lunch Uncle Waldo used to often say, “Going out in the dead of night without a flashlight is dangerous” and I'd nod but I kept slipping out, sneaking down my secret path and take a dip in the rich neighbor's pool because…

Excelsior - A Poem in 9 Parts (post 2 of 5)

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II. ByCoalport Your hair streams minarets across a bridge, The…

Beneath The Ice Age

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