The ambient sound wheezes on.

Friday night, 80s halcyon,a memory of October bowling.The suburban lanes loudwith kids and kinetic releaseof balls slamming on maple.I have no footwork, no senseof release, fingers sweatyin the grips, resin droppingwith a hollow boomfollowed by derision from more adept…

I write my new poem in the gardenBut not like Mary OliverMore like meDirt under my fingernailsReal dirtI can feel the grit of it Something that shouldn't be thereBut is.

You have to play the part and be somebody else at all cost, do this from the time you wake up drink your milk first contact, mom I wish I were someone else, tell me, tell me there must be a way through the center of the doughnut hole, direct opposite of a crucifiction.…

Ah now, behold this bird. This silly little bird. Holding in his claw his piece of bread. His feathers white, his yellow comb. So proud to show his comb, designed to catch the eye of that other he's so attentive to. Though she indifferent…

My heart raced. I couldn't swallow. Heat rose under my skin, sharp and disorienting. I wanted to disappear—to fold inward, to dissolve—but instead of leaving, I walked toward him.

count vb (late 14c) “to enumerate, assign numerals to successively and in order; repeat the numerals in order”; also “to reckon among, include,” from Old French conter “to count, add up,” also “tell a…

So greenThe road winded its way like a terrier tail but without wagging. Cream white snow and warty as country roads are with their noisy gravel which crackled under my schoolgirl shoes. I can still hear that noise when cars pass in front of my house, the tires…

The corridor was longer than it had been, but that was only because I was walking it slowly. I had a key in my pocket. I knew this the way you know things in the morning before you are properly awake, not by checking but by a kind of trust, and I trusted it completely,…

Albert's alarm was on the verge of being dispelled by the cognac when another occurrence rattled him. In one of his vest pockets he located a short note addressed to him by Schrödinger. “—but no, this cannot be!”

Other therapists had their own names for it: death by mishap, inadvertent fatal impact, unintended loss of life. These were all very polite ways of describing what happens when one person, mistakenly and without malice, kills another.

As the family gathered for cocktail hour, my nephew asked me to bring him a virgin daquiri—and I answered that I could, but by the time I brought it to him, it would just be a daquiri.

The table is the first thing to be set, but the stage is always being dismantled by some Joe with no remorse for the carpentry involved in that particular sorrow. He's always standing in the wings with his cardboard box in his hands waiting to sweep the…