Authors
Today is my favorite kind of day. Night opens, light concedes.
I read that poem twice, didn’t I? I must have wanted to hear it again.
Why is the sun such a bad companion to the desert traveler?
After having been riddled with stars: I lost the light that was lost.
I couldn’t love the tree in every soul shouldering its own tiny autumn.
It changes nothing. It’s nasty shit, and you’ve gotta get clean.
They couldn’t go to the Manson family caves because of nuclear radiation.
A small circle of friends and family babysat so she could go to school.
“I might surprise you,” Mr. Maxi said. Polly hoped he’d go all out.
The appendix on political correctness explains why none of that is funny.
She was gone then, inaudible, steeple-reticent, demure as sky.
A high roller gave her money to stay in his room for the weekend.
She had yellow cat eyes that she insisted were also blond.
I usually get my best writing done at night or at the close of day.
Howard found himself dancing the merengue with a buxom Puerto Rican.
He was alongside without preamble. Elephants are not stealthy by nature.
I'll pick a black card of luck for you: star, pinkmoon, mirror, ostrich eye.
The sight of her belly ring and the smooth, tight canopy of flesh.
The pillow into which her face was turned muffled her voice.
Phuong feared that she was nothing but a regret born into flesh.
A child no bigger than small change calls from her window j’ai faim.
I roam the dirt with the law in my teeth, a widower in search of a widow.
I ask if you are all right until you can be nothing but not all right, not okay.
Grandfather advised me: learn a trade. I learned to sit at a desk.
We work to house the water yet know we cannot keep anything.
I can already feel the stone’s resistance as I work the first pass.
Window widows we were once, like lonely oil spilled on sullied beaches.
My soul’s parts know little and don’t care whether I live or die.
The dead children were wheeled away, covered with white sheets.
The guards ripped off Mara’s clothes, pinning her head against the wall.
A friend said she hated the State of Israel because it killed her cat.
Give him a bottle of red wine. You’ll be his best friend right away.
The tree was shaggy and it bore scars of shrapnel from the war.
If you let me live, I will buy you beer whenever I see you in town.
“How is it fair that you know who I am but I have to guess about you?”