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I’m afraid to say anything or nothing, I’m white & unalterably broken.

The dead cowards my parents on a tear through the goddamn fields.

By the time I looked over my shoulder, the sun had already fallen.

We watched our father chuck her boom box out the bedroom window.

A widow is sort of a holy figure, while a divorcée is a tawdry one.

The dog glares back at Roger, his eyes on fire, but he doesn’t let her go.

I was enraged at being alone on the outside of all that love and lust.

The distant past returned—what part of it, he could not decide.

I shoved them one by one, easy as pie yet with care, just shy of mercy.

Certainly the ushers who pass the baskets know me as a miser.

The preacher looked me in the eye. He laid his hand on my chest.

How different they were; how comfortable he was that.

Alone but one year sober and my parole’s nearly done.

I want to focus on bears. On knowing them, and on what they need.

Passions played among the orchids and through cherish and reveal.

Marie was therefore exiled, as it were, like Cordelia in the old play.

Have two children to keep around the house in case one goes missing.

Widow. I look up the etymology. To separate, split, cleave, divide.

I can see on him how things are changing for and against us.

My daughter’s favorite game is Holocaust. She’s quite inventive.

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

Royal baby George is tucked in the crook of his mother’s elbow.

Advance planning was never Hank’s strong suit, he had to leave her.

Paul King was shiftless and drunken; ugly tales were told of him.

For all the stories they’d concocted, the real one electrified them.

She did not leave him for the sailor. So why should he be angry?

So that’s what I’d look like if every beauty parlor in the world shut down.

All over the planet people try to end pain: striptease, bee stings.

I grabbed him by the face and told him life only comes to a person once.

The allure of Mardi Gras is to feel this way: unseen and unseeable.