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Another run-in with the police happened one night in Elmhurst. I was seeing this girl I'd met in my Shakespeare night class at Elmhurst College. She and I and Andy and a friend of hers, I think, were parked in front of her house, drinking a six pack of beer when her…
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removing oneself sometimes occurs only on the page
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Rain dressed for winter, a win, she thought
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Approaching the kitchen from the foyer the reverb lessened until heel and floor where flint on flint. No spark was made.
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A tissue, she was saying - hand me a tissue. Her seat belt was locked and she was rocking back and forth in it cinching wrinkles into her favorite blue silk blouse. I can't remember her wearing anything else. Her hands were gesturing - on and on- an endless loop…
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Last night I met a man from the same littleshithole townthat you are fromand I kissed him in the mouth to find out if he tasted like coallike you do.While he slept, I tried to pinpoint on a map I drew on his back exactly how far apart you might have been:how many years…
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with so many thick curtains hung out to shroud/ so many unlit eyes, Night you’d think could spare/ a small few for our diversion . . .
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The young girl has given up, and lies sprawled out
upon the yellow cover on the bed, with her blue sarong
wrapped loosely around her body. One arm lay
back up above her head, where it was thrown
during the exertion of birth. Her yellow halo
surr
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I have committed to nothing. Therefore I have committed to something. The first sentence is now moot, and this story will eat itself.
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My sweet granny was like Exhibit A that I was adopted. I mean, how can anyone be sure?
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The manicured lawn rolls down either side of the knoll, punctuated with flat granite plaques, the occasional bouquet of cut flowers, a smattering of faded eight-inch American flags.
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Yes, I had pulled my own heart apart
Yes, I had slipped up on time itself
In its own backyard behind my memories
And scared the crap out of it
By not yelling, just sniffing at its neck
Longingly, tearing it apart with my teeth
Wishing I had
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“Guys, who would you rather live with.... Mom... or Dad.”
His younger siblings giggled in shock, not that they hadn’t thought about it... apparently.
"You know I'm right here..." I joked, waving at them.
“I’d rather live with mom.” the question-a
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I don't care what my reincarnated self thinks about today. I'm already aware that everything stinks in the end. Well. It's supposed to. But all things must seek travel while they can. Dance while they can. Dream while they can. Laugh while they can.…
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“I wrote a story about you today.”
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while you peed on that little old lady's begonias
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Hope was beauty before I even knew what beauty was with her golden pigtails, brilliant blue eyes and an infectious smile — even after Jamie Delano flung his Frisbee, knocking out Hope’s two front teeth.
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I'm living where I've always lived, in Georgia.
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I've never really been impressed with authors that write long teary-eyed novels about people dying of terrible diseases or uplifting stories about the armless boy who made the wrestling team.
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The gecko instinctively knew that if he moved, he was dead.
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When I left my wife, I got the birds. Two parakeets, blue and yellow, male and female. They were loud, messy and, because my ex rarely cleaned their cage, smelly. So I got them. At first, I called him Rod and her Tippy. Rod Taylor and Tippy Hedren? The Bi
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Take shelter from the rain inside the Museum of Sex.
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A hymn for her
when his head
cocks shameless.
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The rest is Scots,
people for whom a taste is enough
and a lyric’s as rare as a dragon
or a poet named MacDuff.
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The retina was burning, the liquid had dried up, and the veins bursting. My eyes bled. But I kept them open. The sound was like nails on glass, screeching endlessly. Coming close to me louder, harder, faster.
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Jacob could tell it was a man he had just walked past, a broken man with an olive green Vietnam era military jacket, a man who had probably served his country as honorably as anyone chosen at lottery and forced to kill for a subsistence wage…
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In the backyard with Joey, I make the mistake of answering him honestly when he asks what the gray brick in the dirt is for. “My parakeet is buried there,” I say. And he asks, “can we dig it up?”Joey's grandma lives down the street; he comes over…
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Bobby turned black yesterday. Not like his ethnicity, or skin color. But his soul. Not his soul. Not black either. But a violet desecrating blue. That kind of blue that use to sit in the ocean, then dried up, and vanished into a big terrifying stupor. He looked at me with…
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