He was Unremarkable. Fifth in line behind four others just slightly more remarkable than himself—sixth if one counted Test Subject 433 who wore the fuzzy hat and smelled like pork rinds.

Some things you never forget, especially if they are repeated frequently. I cannot hear her voice saying those words, now, I have forgotten its timber, its pitch, but I remember the words.

Joe thought of Evelyn. Walt of Charley. Annabelle dreamt of Paolo in an autumn in Cordoba. Everyone who stayed at Mrs Jackanoe’s guest house in Room 17 and found the note also found some long forgotten feelings.

It’s no surprise when Mark comes home drunk, nor is it unexpected when he grabs me roughly by the arm and slaps my face because I didn’t have dinner waiting for him. The difference is that this night tears spring to my darkened eyes and slide down my swol

you want to soften the blow by asking, “What kind of poetry?”

You sit before the mirror, looking at your freckled skin. Squeezing at your pores, you try to get the black heads out.

And in the end we're crouched over like children / sifting through this tide-pool