hunting after dark,/ in the quiet they seemed to appear/ with every new poem I read, each new workshop, some hunting carried on/ by both animals.

I made him stop at an AM-PM. We bought a bag of barbecue chips and a yellow rose. Those days, we were testing our keels, sloshing against whatever rose most wicked. On the way to Beth Anne's apartment, we passed a man on the shoulder heaving a couch back

I ordered biscuits and gravy at the Sunset Grill, Just before the Amber Alert

It’ll all make sense when you're sitting on an éclair chaise longue by the morning pool of coffee.

Other pathways are more satisfactory. They are more closely attuned to music of the other world. Even so, the heat eventually burns them up.

I knew I needed to visit a beach / made entirely of sharks’ teeth

Phoebe-Lou Adams wrote this of them

Here's how it works. The clock in my therapy office ticks off the minutes I get to spend talking with each patient, forty-five in and out, regardless of the amount of distress. Less distress has the option of being shoved out earlier but…

I offer you a peanut butter sandwich full of unconditional love and you say I'm being controlling, so I let you eat cake, eat cake.

Mosaics are a trick of the eye, seeming

Political doggerel.

The tiny green light flashing in the lawn of an apartment building one night that caught Roberta’s attention while we were walking home from Café Vita.

youthful pin oaks grant solemn attention to the aluminum gurney

One by one the hundred matte black drones hummed awake. The buzz was loud on the tiny airfield but died out soon among the waving amber heads of Kansas wheat that surrounded the unsigned base.

Not that their pa really needs the suitcase; he's been coming and going for so long it doesn't matter. The suitcase's just for show. A final goodbye.