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He repeated Honey, I miss you. He could be cruel. He let their son chase his kite for hours in the park while he sat between two tourists on their way out of the city just last week. He could hear her now, running a bath for herself, forgetting John's Apple Jacks before…
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That put a real crimp in our already crimped sex life. Actually I didn’t mind as much as Allison minded. It made her real grumpy when she didn’t get laid. I could never understand how she could bear so much pain, because she was so small that it was l
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Apparently we must endure them forever, the gods. My willingness to live among them, and love, with their high-pitched voices. To endure or be endured equally, each one of the Fates, each one of the high hearers stammering out the certainty of their lov
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So, I say, what is the answer?
The answer to what?
You know. The song by Bob Dylan. The answer is blowing in the wind. You’re the wind. So what’s the answer?
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"We gotta find a way to get high!" "Shh! My parents will hear you Tommy! Their bed is right above us." …
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She has almost-black eyes and auburn hair and round brown nipples that are always taut – as though in anticipation. I don’t know what color auburn is. I just know that’s the word that comes to mind when I look at her hair.
She calls herself Mama Legb
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I see my route home through memory and its cataracts.
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She did not know what it would feel like, how it would happen … but she knew it would be done. She knew that it would be magical, like nothing she could see or hear through the cornfields or around the markets.
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Before I could reach the physical bar,
four rounds of shots were fired.
Desperately, little boys spooged ounces about in every direction.
They only knew one form of celebration,
mating ritual roulette.
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I knew her face but not her hair, at least not the right way up.
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Licking my wounds.
That's what my mother calls it. I'm not really sure what that means or if it's true. Sure, losing your boyfriend, apartment and job in a matter of months can drive someone to do something impulsive. Something crazy. But I've always b
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Then there was this short little girl, Jo Ann, who had a daughter and was divorced, who lived next door to Andy. She told me right after we did it one night that she had always wanted to have sex with me when she was growing up, as a teenager, I mean. A
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My bones will rob me blind, corpuscle by corpuscle.
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They’d met by sheer accident.
Torrential rain & a deserted bungalow were the perfect catalysts.
‘You shouldn’t be alone at this hour’ Kurt whispered.
‘It’s not by design’ Ursula murmured.
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wash over me i fear not the erosion let the future scientists take their soul samples to figure out what happened how was there warning and when you go away let me believe the residue left behind is a choice a souvenir of the moment i want you full…
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She's a woman who travels often. Maybe for work. Maybe for mischief. She's a "free spirit" trapped by her desire for love. But she numbs it with the warmth of a new man's touch. She leaves herself reminders that often fail her or remain inconsistent. She wants to…
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He was the tall, whippy type. Dangerous.
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It was a gesture on their part, an act with meaning;
they didn’t care about country or science; their love
was their art, their art was their love.
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How many years has he dreamed he would be home again?
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I had coffee with one of my characters today. It did not go well. I thought we were friends, but I guess I was wrong.
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I’m walking funny but only comedians notice.
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I’m lying on the floor curled up in the foetal position and about six people are stamping on me. [...] It’s really confusing down here, what with all the kicking.
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Look out for rotten ice. If you fall in, pull yourself out like a seal. Take off all your clothes and get to shelter.
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it always takes too long to figure it out
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i’ve started writing these things down
on blue-lined notebook paper
or really anything i can get
my tendonitis-ridden hands on.
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William Walsh Queen Anne's "Gentleman of the Horse," poet and friend of Alexander Pope thought Caelia proved cruel for not giving him the toy he begged. So he wrote in The Despairing Lover. William Walsh …
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it’s okay, you can come inside me
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There was a bucket of shit . . .
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Vito suddenly found himself wide awake. He was unable to recall having fallen asleep or dreaming or awakening. It seemed he'd just entered bed, yet a glance at the windows told him it was already the middle of the night.
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