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At the Jennifer Aniston Intensive Haircare Clinic

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Hunger only makes people hungry, but bad hair can ruin your whole day.

The Chair

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His thoughts drifted to when he was a kid, to the monthly trip to the barber.

Reunion

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Did we ever walk together long?We walked apart much longer. Are we the same, unsaid, Or more different than you imagined? Are you amazed I still stand, Here and in this room, So brazen to show my lined, scarred face, So bold to live and speak aloud? Can you…

Man Resting On Tires, NYC

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A man asleep on a stack of tires in front of a tire shop on 10th Aveune, NYC. A store that’s “open 25 hrs,” where apparently time is being manufactured. The unknown new element, the 25th hour, even though the other 24 may have been shortened som

Chocolate Dog

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My ghost has already been places I'll never see.

Elizabeth Karlin, M.D. and U.W.-Madison’s OB-Gyn Chair’s Cash Window

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Sad to tears, not bubbly, ordered as all in Madison, outpatient by Elizabeth Karlin, internist, later a bullet-proof vest abortion provider.

What People Do With Their Hands

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I said, “If this rose doesn't grow another petal in twenty minutes, I'm burning down the neighborhood.” “Just let it go,” said Paul. “No,” I said. “That's what's happening right here.” “You'll try again next…

Writing in the Dark

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and to adorn my hair I chose every kind of light

The Stuffy Poet

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Getting up and reading his poem The stuffy poet sitting back down On the leather couch, which creaks under his weight After adjusting his narrow tie from the 1980’s The stuffy poet clearing his throat, twice, During an enemy’s reading The s

REM-Embering my LED

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Someone desperately dials a number. Iris, draped tight.

Light Eyes

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Once, when he had been married for a year, she sent him a card which said, "If you have seen a cat smoke a pipe, you have got it made." There was an illustration of a big, black panther, standing up on its hind legs, smoking what looked like a big tub of

In This Neo-Liberal Society, We Are All Julia Roberts

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When he was 24 he ran away with a girl, forgot about his little office job in the city, went with her to the mountains, just the two of them, to live out a life of romance that a chalk box like the metropolis can’t give you—

14-B

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It was a forgettable face, to be sure. Neither ugly nor beautiful, she looked like any one of a million American women. She could have been headed anywhere, but at that moment, she wanted to go to 14-B.

The Riddle of Steel

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This is my motorcycle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My motorcycle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my motorcycle is useless. Without my motorcycle, I am useless.

Match

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Like the Lady Miss Kier, I believe in the power of love. I believe.

Rootless

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[This story is not racist!]

Even My Air Guitar Is Lame

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I had the hair of a metal god, cracking it against the air whenever the stereo belched fists.

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 54

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Frank shouldered his backpack, grabbed the leather satchel packed with his brushes, palette knives, pens, and pencils, and exited the vaporetto at the Rialto Bridge.

Bron-yr-Aur

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The night we broke into Bron-yr-Aur it was too cold to make love. I said I wasn't horny anyway. You put your hand on my forehead: Are you ill?

Seasons of You

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Summer, Spring, Winter, Fall, the Good Lord made them all.

Apiaries

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I’m reading an article about honeybees as I wait for the results of my blood work at the doctor’s office.

Psychics or Ouija Boards - Who Ya Gonna Call?

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Madame B would come once a week and tell me things that I needed to know in exchange for some free items. She would come and grasp my hand while telling me the same thing week after week. Madame B always told me to relax and things would eventually come.

The Tesseracts

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From 'Excelsior' (fifth section) - a poem in 9 parts. So this is what begins at thirty? Thirty-five, And waiting. Those make love with water mildly, they That sink and skim the tide's meridian fingers: Brown swans that bob the blue orb's plumbing sheer. So this has…

Brains

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My memory is like tracks in the snow. My memory is cookie dough. My memory is dirty tube socks.

Substitution

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Once there was a man who wrote in code. He was comfortable among substitutions

The Paris American

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He returned to America on the Fourth of July. Twisting in his cramped window seat miles above the Atlantic, he buckled up before the descent. “You can handle this,” he muttered. Hungover, still reeling from the dreamy head-turning experience of…

Luz Maria

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Although badly educated, and although the Michoacána fought to deny it, she held the complex notion that borders are not abrupt lines, simple artifacts of geography and cartography.

Sink

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Waking in the middle of the night, tangled in the hotel sheets, I wanted to hear the story again: their pilot friend, the war, his specialty. "It's just a screw, son," Dad said, "nothing exotic."

Blink

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He stands straighter and walks toward the phone in the back, near the bathrooms. His wet sock slaps loudly against the tile floor. The buzz of conversation dims to whispers, barely audible above the roar of the espresso machine.

Junk Pulse

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Me included...