Poems and stories are the whisperings of angels we cannot see.
I dream of snakes coming out of me and through the house to find her.
Their mother was the real beauty of the family, or so everyone said.
A raucous voice I raise in praiseful song, but it’s myself I praise.
I tell him: junkies are the only people worth talking to about love.
The signs of destruction confirm his apocalyptic suspicions, but they also satisfy his desire to “get it all over with.”
Howard found himself dancing the merengue with a buxom Puerto Rican.
At fifteen, Sam is becoming wise to the ambiguities of the world. And at fifteen, she can’t yet accept them.
Her name sprang to my lips in strange prayers and praises.
I tried mightily, but no longer could I ladle those ancient words into the air.
The girl marched directly up to me, glaring, and said, “You hit my dog.”
Bone unspools its musculature to the crush of atmosphere.
do you asks pretty sue know what I love what pretty please tell us
The elevator inside him begins to fall with dizzying speed.
When push comes to shove, I can get downright Aeolian on you, son.
The first time we love, how tight we hang on to keep from drowning.
The pillow into which her face was turned muffled her voice.
Tears sometimes come in a bottle. Open and apply several times daily.
Women should hate it when people whistle at their backs as they walk past.
Later, in a sudden about-face, she gives herself to him entirely.
I didn’t trust her. Relationships like ours aren’t built on trust.
When she sleeps, Shakespeare writes one more sonnet we’ll never read.
Children are never old enough to understand their parents’ affairs.
The five notes, slowly, over & over, and with some light intent.
He knows what she’s seeking, and he knows she won’t find it.
I grew accustomed to seeing the sun rise and set from the school.
He’s weirdly hard to pay attention to, even when he’s threatening you.
I only feel that here, only here, in this one place, a small rise.
Why do girls want to cheerlead? Don’t they know it objectifies women?