short poem I wrote with no socks on, the floor was cold.

come find me in high July come find me and brag about frost come be my friend at the end of the map come burn this church come melt your silver cross come cat fish a condom out my dresser drawer come alone, cum under a gold dust moon come throw another shadow on…

—It’s difficult to say, he said. I have mood swings. Women don’t like that. They become upset.

The sales clerk reached into the bag and pulled out a human heart. Faded to the pink of overchewed gum, it was slightly shriveled, shrunken, like leather left out for weeks in the rain and sun. It beat softly in her hand, ka-thump, ka-thump.

Now, gazing into Greg’s expectant eyes, the only Chinese word Deepti could summon was kuei. Ghost. Before that summer, her mother flipped through the pages of Maxine Hong Kingston’s memoir every day, as if she could glean magic from the touch of her finge

Filling his nostrils, cold and moist against his cheek. The primitive taste of it, like licking a grave. Prayers tossed from his mind to the heavens as stray small coins are tossed into a fountain. His left arm throbbing beneath his weight. All around him

The woman abruptly closed her legs.