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He grew red-faced at her quiet words, "I'm pregnant."
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Coward, cuckold, she taunts: So be it. He's not a young man anymore, nor as clever as he once was, or thought.
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Every Monday you brought your Sunday finest to the bus stop...
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is every word is a small step takenaway from you that arcs back to me likea mamba's mouth. I'm not going aroundin place so much as running in circles. You can see my devilry here. You arethe truth here and that makes me the lie. You'renew morning. I'm much, much more…
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The shop is swarming with little women.
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There was nothing to do but dream ourselves forward. Nothing to do but not die.
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I walked to work back then...
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Let’s play a game. I’m thinking of a word.
Do we have to?
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She's always sitting in a soft chair watching television with little stars dotting her elbows and lightning bolts on her wrists.
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The man meets a woman while out on his lunch break. She seems nice; they strike up a conversation. Before leaving, the woman gives the man her telephone number. The man goes home and thinks about it.
It’s been a long time since he’s been on a date.
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"The path back to the living must not be made slippery by tears." (Mexican proverb)Marigolds blaze yellow under Oaxacan sun.Their slender necks stretch above fern foliage.Stars of this late October hillside, they drapetheir riches over the edges of terra cottalike…
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There was gonna be a rumble in our schoolyard. An outright brawl. It was gonna be just like Blackboard Jungle. Only real. Not some movie at the Duwamish Drive-In. Every boy in my school, it seemed like, was lined up outside except me. All the third and fourth graders…
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It could as well be late night infomercials/
saturating the screen//
with medieval looking exercise machines
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Ah, how sweet is forbidden fruit, how delicious undiscovered sin!
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One sunny morning, a big-bellied ball of yellow fur surveyed a yard full of prospective adopters and ran straight to one.
She’d been chosen.
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The knife that precedes the bigger knife that precedes the spoon that precedes the flat fork, with stuff like that I'm all butterfingers, & even though he's never been to Italy except once to shoot a gun when the world was a great big jumble, he remembers all…
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There's a witch in Laurel Canyon.She made Wes a promise.Her bungalow smelled like Parliaments. Parliaments, garlic frying in olive oil. Parliaments, garlic frying in olive, and a freshly opened pack of Red Vines. Wes could have curled up into a ball and fallen asleep on her…
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Save the whales. Save the dolphins. Save the bored housewives. Save my hands, so often cupped over the sorrow in being alive. Save the beautiful made-up cherries of delight I feel everywhere in your presence. Save the sprawling…
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My books wound you. They wound me / too.
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There was a form to it, not reproduction. I wanted to write Moby Dick without a man in it. [I wanted to write Moby Dick with only a woman in it.] But I didn't do it. It's like a seven-year diary, and it did happen. I might write it as memory then.
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Our house was big, red brick, with off-white walls that watched over us while we slept, while we prayed for our souls to be kept, while we shared bath water and bunk beds and the secret of the back closet we will die with and never reveal.
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Another new spring and the leaves
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Enough, Trump. We've had it my dear, with your pink ties, your hairs, your swagger, your towers, your money, tempers, walls, bombs, smarts, snarls, pouts and doubts, bigotty bile, and once again, style. We just…
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We all build portraits, meaning we all try to encapsulate and thus punctuate time. Why? Because, who among us can swallow eternity whole?
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the world slips under the waves
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Writers, hopeful ones, hopeless ones, poets and petty penmen, worked as bartenders, librarians, substitute teachers, anything.
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But you know what? You give yourself a fall back plan, you fall back. Not me. I am shooting for the stars and rising high. Next week, I start filming my first feature film. I get to play Tommy Lee Jones’ sexy little stepdaughter. Me and Tommy are g
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I. The sun's corona. Empty boxes near the firehouse. Red birth. A bird's lost wing. II. The bitterness of littleness. Apples in a pile.Early love.A spider, swinging. III. A father's harshness.Twelve bills unpaid. Leaves in a crevice. A dream…
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