To whoever reads this next--Henry James makes my head hurt.

It's as if there are little men inside her head, wielding hammers.

Orchids, and irises. Tulips, and a sunflower too.

So I licked the Anise from my fingers.

For those of you with a position cemented firmly to the contrary, I happen to think I have a great face, actually. My face, maybe I talk about my body a lot, but my face is pretty great, really it is.

In the air a shining heart, wet lungs releasing and releasing, your sweet milk head, your pulsating skin. Only an inch separates us. A shimmer of hot air trembles like boiling water above the highway. There are seeds floating in the sky. These things will become other…

It is a well-known fact that my wife sleeps around. There. I said it and now everyone knows that I too know about my wife. Let me just tell you this one thing; she has her reasons. You ask me how I know that she has her reasons, but who would know better than…

He died a printer finding late/ after so much selling himself selling/ a craft that pleased and paid enough

I want to be that daring gardener who ploughs up her front yard -- to the horror of the Neighborhood Association.

INGREDIENTS --A messy divorce. --A late spring night in Boston. DIRECTIONS 1. First, let's agree to call them "Pahkah House Rolls," for the Pahkah House is a luxury Boston hotel. (We'll be returning to New York on the morning train.)

...He steps back from the abyss, inner eye envisioning the ink sip of a fountain pen, the hard, hot brain frenzy that sends phrases marching toward another bridge between oblivion and art.

"the rum tasted of hibiscus blossoms"

With such a world/ one must invent a heaven

You need buttered broths and to copy old writings by hand by very poor light.

"The problem is, sometimes my pigeon wants to fly somewhere new- to the beach or south for winter. Other times, my pigeon wants to steal someone else’s lunch or picnic with a stranger’s leftovers. Often, my pigeon wants a good show and some freedom, to be