At night, we’d sleep in our usual spots on the edge of the bed - Becca on the left, me on the right with Hanna in the middle as before the accident.

Once upon a time I sat in summer chairs beside cool vine walls. This was in a borough east of the major city, where families gathered in seasonal joy, by blooms fragrant, to worship the summer and its might. There is nothing diminutive about the world when one is…

She was about 35 or so and noticeably pregnant. She was near hysteria when she knocked on our apartment door, right across the street in L.A. from a convent. But she took one last desperate wild look at me, standing at the door. I saw the animal in her ey

I just sit here thinking You’re cheating on me again It’s how you acted last time The same as it’s ever been Don’t wanna go ballistic What’s inside your head? Why don’t you just tell me Who’s been sleeping in that bed

Our realtor is worried about selling our apartment. He believes it is a submarine. We cannot convince him otherwise. I agree that our apartment is a little small and more than a little cluttered. We have a lot of books. The sensation of standing or sitting in our…

The squirrels love the sun

facts are facets are / things in the act // the truth speaks softly // as time saying amber / to the enduring sap // words come and go / like leaves like men // we the tree remain ...

I have an appointment set for the day after next; you said you thought you might be firing blanks and then I feel a kick into my chest—two kicks, three, seven at least—my cat is going crazy at the stinky tom outside the window and the birds are waking, sc

I was in a Chinese restaurant trying to read the menu when I realized Hunan was only 1 letter off of Human I thought it read Chicken Human This was just in a dream, so I ordered it It was delicious, but kind of salty Then someone at ano

And I admire// the orchestrations of ants and honeybees/ and the persistence and adaptations/ of the cockroach.

Not for the short attention span

Sleep never fades away quickly. It has to be shaken off, layer by layer, before reality can reach you. That is the way every morning works for me. There are some days when I will sit at the edge of my bed for almost an hour, shedding remnants of dreams

And there on the street Were a bunch of frantic pigeons Picking over some discarded Chicken bones I mean they were really Going to town on them You know, frantic Like there was no tomorrow And then I saw it A real sign of progress

Unfortunately, the question had a similar impact on me that a command not to have thought about rhinoceroses would have—once suggested, I could think of little else

But my point is, this isn’t a Thomas Kinkade. It’s not like you can pay me fifty dollars and I can drive to the Twombly store and buy another Twombly.