Stories tagged prose-poem

Headstone II

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There was a memorial on the Berkeley Pier where you liked to fish.

The Grinder

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"For several days thinking they had found a dead man’s boot beside the highway..."

Headstone III

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My only brother. Frantic flesh clings to bone.

Moose-Watching, Moose-Watched

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A privilege, being watched by moose: the fact of it warms me with a bright mammalian viscosity.


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a Ferris wheel gently rocks its last riders then dumps them to the ground.

Life of Charlotte

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A wall of icons can be beautiful if you don’t look closely at the hands. The hands tell stories of too short lives and unrequited love.

Dumping my Dead Uncle's Clothes

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My uncle's death is now his dearest possession.

A Tale of Two Bottles

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My tongue lashes out like a whip.

Morning Thunder and the Death of Hart Crane

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Of course the sharks had their way.

Beacon Street Redux

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The faces of strangers ooze like hamburger.

The High Sonora - a sonata in four movements

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My hands exist for this, the sweet unraveling of sleep until the rhythm of a whispered kiss awakens you.

Railroad Yard in Snow

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Nothing moves, though two switch engines chuckle on a siding, their exhaust an umber wash.

The Death of Narcissus

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Aging nudists, sun-rumpled and shameless. Their display of flesh suggests it’s expendable, easily replaced.


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...she sets aside her cane and reaches up to weigh a giant pupa in her palms as it hangs clustered with its mates, fantastic table grapes depended from a trellis on the ceiling.