No one could understand. No one wanted to understand. They were all gripped with horror, fear flowing through every nerve in their body. Could it be a serial killer? Could it be an animal ? Could it be an accident? Or was this a prank gone bad ?

Won't speak a word against 'em. Car trunk stunk like bad chicken long after, but I won't speak a word against 'em.

"It all began with a painting," I said. "Mostly blue. Acrylic. Naturalistic in a modern sense. She was stylized but recognizable, and her breasts were exposed. Everyone could see her disordered skirt. The painter was a fan of Herrick.

I lay in your vineyard, with the kisses of your mouth you kissed me, as the sun looked upon us, we the keepers of the I. It is time we lived, or else die lest we are despised and the meaninglessness of our love revised. We are beyond…

In desperation, the city council imported a shaman to exorcise whatever demons had possessed the house.

Their faces covered in shadow, smiles so relaxing, a tall woman approached her, gently rubbing her face. Her lips moved with no sound, but Sora subconsciously understood what she said.

One fine afternoon a few months after her husband's death, Susan awoke in the porcelain tub of her gigantic, empty house with: two champagne bottles, one only half-empty; a Xanax bottle, completely empty; and a loaded gun, which was most startling

The Sentinels all played for a while. They helped Reya swim in the deeper side of the pool. They even had a diving competition to see who could make a bigger splash.

the lazy leaves of a parlour palm finger lavender in a wine bottle.

I remember this shot taken of you in a bright blue summer dress, with your arms spread out, leaning against a wood fence near the beach, or by Lincoln Park maybe, your thin body leaning back and long blonde hair down bare arms. Other men will remember h

While laying in his hospital bed recovering from a minor heart attack, Professor Martin Hellman reads details of an ancient book he has been given for translation--Biblos Melas, or, the "Black Book." Excerpted from the forthcoming novel "Minion Web."

It was just after lunch when they found the box.

The number 25 double-decker bus threads its way through the narrow two-lane streets. Coughing and burping without a hint of embarrassment, it carries us from the train station, with its cheerful round clockface and neat front of red brick, over the weepin

You seemed to have that leisure to walk about sweetly when I was with you, honey-singing the reward for the intensity of emotion you lunged about in. Nothing seemed like it was going to hurt or harm anyone, even while I was going nuts between the legs.

No One The city he abandoned lies below him. It's been years, so many tears. He admires the remains of the White City, The Shed, rooted ahead. He jaunts through Roosevelt Train station, hassled by the acrid stench pollinating the area. I…