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i stored away in my mama’s empty perfume bottles smells and stories

These old guitar players were the last pure thing this country produced.

I’d make a tub of mud to keep live crabs. I’d refill it daily.

Teams spend days surveying the damage and label me a mess.

Standing there in our small shadows, we discuss the ways of the dead.

“My brother’s last words to me were about you. Did you know that?”

The Village wasn’t really a village. No walnut trees. Just cut flowers.

Einstein postulated that space and time sit neatly on the same fabric

my grandparents lay in a room listening to their legs rub together

You come hot, marching between one blazing Arab & one crazy Jew.

Having a sister or a friend is like sitting at night in a lighted house.

“I always arrive late at the office, but I make up for it by leaving early.”

This is a crafty story and things are not what they seem to be.

Mother had always told me that everybody loves a self-absorbed ass.

A man drunk on the damage he made to a boy’s young mouth.

My dear, even my ear is trying to eat itself in its attempt to forget you.

“How is it fair that you know who I am but I have to guess about you?”

The hut was cluttered with the skulls and bones of small animals.

I understood that life could end without warning, even young lives.

I cradled the lifeless bird in my hand and marveled at its beauty.

Is there some one way a guy should be on his wedding day, dickwad?

The sedan clipped their front bumper and pitched Bill’s car into a slide.

It could be our baby. Her eyebrow, its perfect arc, the pale blue vein.

It was here—over the highway—where my mother got confused.

Que voulez-vous? I said. Patisserie, she said and smiled. Pastry, I said. Well, that’s predictable.

I knew in the dream that I was a condor in the shape of a girl.

It will be years before the kids see us as real people, not just as parents.

How can we go on believing each day won’t be the one that flames out?