A Partial History of Lost Causes

Chess was a humiliation that hung over him like a leper’s bell.

A Place of Our Own

Lorenzo and me, we’d squat our own building. It was the new frontier.

A Quiet Patchwork of Slats

Streetlights throw the blinds against the ceiling. It’s 7:00 p.m.

A Separate Set of Signs

Is she dreaming of the rivers soft with codling in her hometown?

A Shrine at the Inn

It was true. We would probably never visit that place again.

A Summer in Between

In a way she enjoyed the slow, sad feeling of letting it go.

A Wanderer

The tree was shaggy and it bore scars of shrapnel from the war.

Addendum and Other Poems

The animals are dying. All the beautiful women are dying too.

After Music

“I’m torturing you,” she said. “It isn’t fair.” Now I saw there were tears.

Alphabet City, 1985

Tony’d had guns pulled on him more times than he had toes.


At age eighteen, Deirdre packed her bags and moved to New York City.


Her name sprang to my lips in strange prayers and praises.

As Evening Falls

Later, in a sudden about-face, she gives herself to him entirely.

Aubade with Hold Music

I know you want your mother’s dial tone like you want a KFC box.

Barcelona Graffiti

The materials were everyday and the possibilities were open-ended.

Bartleby, the Scrivener: A Story of Wall-Street

Like a ghost, he appeared at the entrance of his hermitage.

Beach Lane

Beyond the glib off-white palisades lies the answer to an urban dream.

Beautiful Things

I was all alone in a little room, nothing but that big gun in my face.

Bicyclette Batavus and Other Poems

what happens in all these villages after we ride through them?

Bildungsroman, 1999

Vultures liked to perch on the austere ledge outside my window.

Bleecker Street, Summer

It is music opening and closing, Italia mia, on Bleecker, ciao, Antonio.

Boston Common at Twilight

Nobody knows where I am, Ned thought. No one in the whole world.

Bring Us a Souvenir from the Next War

Be glad the numbness in your legs isn’t reading on your face.

Bringing Down the House

I saw Baryshnikov twice. Heard Pavarotti, Marsalis, and Ma.

Budapest 1984

I saw my mother’s face turn dark like the winter sky before a storm.


It’s so good to see you, she kept saying. You too, he said. She led him around the house to the places she’d stored his things. They had broken up five months earlier, while still long distance.

But I Digress . . .

The store was one of his last-ditch efforts to make a pile of money.

Carol Edgarian in Conversation with Susan Orlean

Cartoon Art Volume 2010-02

New cartoon from Mick Stevens: “It’s hardly worth the trouble tonight.”

Cartoon Art Volume 2011-07

New cartoons from Chris Weyant, Joe Dator, P. C. Vey, and more!