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So, how did they meet? After years and years of starvation and gruesomeness and lack of human contact because there were no humans left, only walking corpses, a woman gently lifted the sixty-pound dead man's penis with a cool washrag and wiped him clean. The dead…
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1980107
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The weight of my heart dragged me in dangerous directions.
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Rough sonnet about faded love
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... while I lie, cool as a nectar cream snowball,
in my Maggie The Cat slip, painting my toenails
a color called Bad Influence
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21481511
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Library life is full of surprises.
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My art teacher hated Salvador Dali.
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I went out through another cold still morning erasing my steps behind me not because I did not want to be followed but because I did not want to find my way back again.
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Balling my fists, I banged them on the retro-formica tabletop. The taste of pufferfish balls in an oleander-infused reduction with a seaweed and pomegranate side-salad tossed in a geranium-rottweiler vinaigrette rose in my throat.
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On the bed he tickled her until she was crying with laughter. And then the tickles became caresses, the fingers, lips.
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Train whistles in wintertime made him feel lonely.
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20441911
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Nobody has been able to use the washer and dryer for over a month now. Our neighbors have gone laundry crazy. They've become suds-a-holics. They wash everything. If it isn't nailed down, they wash it. Outboard engines, peculiar feelings, dominatrix boots, metaphors,…
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I lean forward and take her two hands in mine. I look into her eyes. “It’s you and only you,” I say. She starts to cry.
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She drew her hands out of the chest cavity and looked at the clock.
‘Time of death,’ she said.
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One can watch the grass green/
in response. One can watch the world green/
in response.
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I asked him where he hurt and he said everywhere.
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She was sick and tired of marriage. She didn't want to be a mother, but now she was.
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The squirrels will not stop peeing on the trees.
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I could call him. And be done with this waiting but I refused. I wanted him to not forget me first. To bring himself to remember me first before I'd give him the pleasure of my company.
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He hid in parks and abandoned apartment houses until his wounds healed. He ate nuts, berries, and seeds. A shy, gentle soul, he watched children playing on the monkey bars, and thought of his lost youth.
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This is self-reflection or self-reflexive writing. Candor but not verse. That is what I write: not-verse. On occasion I write a poem though rarely an occasional poem. Instead of calling it non-fiction we could call it non-verse.
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He tried to call on his break but she didn’t answer. He imagined her on the floor, sobbing, like she’d been the other day. The grey rat would have chewed through a plug-in or some wires and started a fire. She would be ashes, a blackened corpse, reeki
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Fear in a Handful of Dust
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Where will you hide? Because you know it Will seek you out for answers you might Only be asking for yourself. It Will send many students to stand outside Your apartment and chant your name. It will beg you to perform its birth Again to the…
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The Bond Trader begins his morning with coffee and a hit of LSD.
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