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“Careful of the shells,” yousaid. I wanted to tasteyour white, and makea table of your midriff. Georgia's just aplace withso little, butan island nevertheless. Sky's a thing weseem to be, when thelight focuses on…
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* Dedicated to Bernie MaddoffThere was a long line at the men's room.You know,when men reach a certain age,there is an urgencyto their frequent trips.So I saw an opportunityI said:" I know Bernie I can get you in.""Really?," they saidbut I played it coy"It ain't easyBernie…
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The pieces of bread dipped us humans in cheese,
the cheese made by cows from our milk.
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...I grew up in a provincial town which at the time had no bookstore and no library — no library even at school...
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Wishes are like beautiful fishing lines Pulled tightly around us. My lungs are Full of them I suppose, hopelessly caught On something rough and deep in all the darkened places. Your smile for Me was one of those, if you must know. This swung…
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alone and soaring in your eyesanother new journey for mebegins; my lifewants to make sense ofitself only for you, goingdeeper, hand youthe keys to that kingdom'srare maps and say,here,"fly, dream, fall to love'slake." You deserve it all.I swear…
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I am confused by your new paper-doll look, btw. Could you please look regular again by Thursday?
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It's all down to you. To every new morning's baby crying. Down to your blank notebook, all sides opening at once, hands like an ocean of birds.You standing there looking back at me from behind your chosen wall of love's newly made flesh. Your smile like blood…
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you're landscape
under her flight path, brother
one dash in a dotted line
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“We don’t need to kiss.” I say coyly, morphing the angles of my body to look cute, irresistible. It would be easier if I’d brushed my hair. “Pretend I’m a prostitute.” I instruct, ”They don’t kiss their clients.” It’s a reference I’ve made before, but not
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I find my mother’s pink Pyrex mixing bowl at the antique store on Fairview Avenue. It’s in the hands of a fat woman in a blue down parka, and she’s holding it upside down, squinting at the sticker on the bottom.
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Eventually, all the windows on the street went dark, each small house cloaking its occupants in a world unto itself, soundproofed and emotionally remote.
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Hey Sledge!
Yo.
Did you know Socrates hated the idea of writing thoughts down? He said it weakened the memory…made us lazy.
Say wha?
That's why he never wrote a book. The only way we know about him is through his student Plato's writing. St
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"Tell me what you remember."
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Here are some ideas for stories I have had. 1. A captain of a whaling ship loses his leg to a whale, and makes it is life's mission to find this beast and kill it, and make a pair of boots, belt, and wallet out of its skin. 2. Ten people are invited to stay the weekend at a…
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Morning claims me from sleep before I can say noYou wake up instantly from your alarm clock's ringYou are bright, enthusiastic, ready to cooperateIt will be a good dayYou shower, dress and I prepare your breakfastEggs, soft, toast two ways, one with salmon cream cheese,One…
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Tony sat down in the hotel room with his back against the wall. He had a handsome face, with three-day stubble growing from it, his pupils very large as if frightened by something, or from deep thought. In his hand, was the winning lottery, Periodically he would get up…
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Uzma dashes up the stairs ahead of me . . .
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Ben had us over, me and him and his boy, Benji, to look at the supernova. Ben was always coming up with these things with the telescope. Jupiter's moons, Saturn's rings. On his wedding night he made everybody stop dancing and run out to the golf course so he could show us…
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My father is the kind of man to shout at you /
just because you took the wrong road /
at least the road that he’s not used to...
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Well, I walked in on you, then you walked out on me
And that was when it happened – the end of history
And that should have been sufficient
But I think you know it wasn’t
I remember it was you who told me
Dreams are only efficient when illusio
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“You have no idea what your lives will be like if you can get out of the ‘hood. You could be driving Volvos, eating Tuscan cuisine, getting MacArthur ‘genius’ grants!”
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I'm writing our initials in black sharpie on the tunnel wall. There's already people who have come before me, hundreds of pairs of Qs and As and hearts in the middle, through a small hole in the brick I can hear the French accents, spinning through, a reminder that I am…
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while the fat stars stand out in the cobalt night.
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To understand how and when things have gone wrong, it works best to proceed from the beginning and put them in order.
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There was something about her eyes that he couldn't shake.
He stood in line, waiting for his chicken finger tenders and one large size 32 oz. cola. No salad (a childhood aversion he had never abandoned), and no mashed potatoes. Friday night and the eve
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I'd wear my pajamas too, fitting for the big sleep
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I threw my cards on the table. The jerk was playing his classical records again. I could hear that lousy music a mile away and he was the kind of kid that makes your skin crawl. But he had a CD sound system and it was up loud this time so that the house
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From decade to decade, editorial opinion swings and sways as to whether the fault of volubility resides chiefly with the practitioner or with the lawless company he keeps.
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But others maintained that Billy Navins was a mad dog that needed to be put down and were just as glad that Lester was around to do it. " Call it a mercy killing," someone said. " Put the poor bastard out of his misery, didn't he ?"
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