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As hungry as a moth is. Or a bird, or God. As hungry as the flame that draws you back with its hunger. As hungry as the hundred folds in the memory of youth, together with all of its inherent lies, and its naked, naked truth.
As hungry as I am remem
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The blond hair lifts slightly on the skin of my arms. In my mind I am nodding, listening to you in your bedroom as you read to me from your poems. The veins along my arms standing up interestingly. I probably have small breasts, yes. I look up, searchin
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When he slipped into the classroom forty minutes late, he felt like a badass, not at all the sophomore who was bullied daily by the bandana’d cholo from Chula Vista, nor the awkward virgin who had to hide the obvious erection in his crotch with a Pee Chee
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Oh, yeah, that's me, the girl in the blue dress, the girl with short blond hair. Slight smile occasionally passing over her face, sitting at the café table, waiting patiently for the semi-famous rock star to show and buy a house. Brown and sea-green
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I read the last line and close the book with a smack. “That ends that section,” I tell him. “Coming up is the chapter titled ‘The Ancient History of the Sewers of Paris.'
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Turns out the psych wing in prison is no place to raise a baby.
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My mom said, “Carol, why are you laughing?”
And I said, “I just saw my last boyfriend and his wife, who got married six months after we broke up, and it’s funny. I mean, I just saw them. They’re in town visiting from California.”
And my mom said, “C
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I know I was hungry. I was hungry for what you had to offer, your fast cars, your dad’s ski boat, your beautiful mouth and its pretty words, your Bohemian eyes and yes, for the joy you could give me between the legs.
But I was unprepared for the lif
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I lean forward to your ear, touch my lips to the point where the hair curls over your lobe, and I wonder about falling inside. I purse them like a kiss and I whisper road trip.
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The cold and the ice’ve really stoked a fire in those old bones of his. He runs with the gait of a racer, front legs straight out—each extension producing a crack like Jack London spitting into the cold...
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Megalomania is a kind of backwards leprosy. It rots your insides out while your skin glistens and grows tighter around your bones.
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Saw the Maury Povich show yesterday and he told me some stuff. Me personally. That ever happen to you?
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We are on Fox River and I am in the dark water swimming naked beside Rick DeMille with my white skin glowing as we come up behind you and Sharon in your dad’s ski boat sitting silent in the water, and I can hear Sharon whimpering, “Oh, Jesus! Jesus!” as
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The protagonist’s story goes like this:
1.) You are young. You’ll get over it.
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I can still see us sitting, somewhere (was it in a café?) imagining what it would be like if our mutual faces blended into the future (the waiters posing as in a Manet painting.) Putting our bones together, our broad features, Bohemia and Sweden.
Yo
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