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He does not dare to ask the question flaring in his head. Will she stay.

Chuck had a grin, but Mike kept his eyebrows raised, very curious.

He was getting a divorce. I was married with two teenage children.

Doctor, he devoted. When she poorly, he bring her mint tea in bed.

A field. No clouds. Tall grasses bend toward the foreground.

The citizens of Aunay believed Pierre Rivière batshit, dimwitted.

The church was clearly the work of a madman driven crazy by the wind.

In my eyes is the flame of the adolescent he wants to hire.

Lucy Liu, you show me I can come to fruition and yellow on my own terms.

Once I took it in my mouth, I had to admit pity tastes like sandwiches.

You think I couldn’t write it because I look like a mechanic, I said.

I wanted just to like chemistry, because my teacher hailed from Georgia.

you here and these words also here meeting in your shared beauty

Why don’t we just get drunk and walk down the middle of Fifth Avenue.

Death is our common ancestor. It doesn’t care who we have dined with.

American poetry is afflicted by modesty of ambition.

Cory only hires stoners so he has something on them if they try blackmail.

Under Saint Peter’s Gate, I put good foot after bad, and derided, I chased.

My mother taught me to rebel within the boundaries of acceptability.

I was nagged by those boxes from my old life stacked in the garage.

cannibal chowder and a kiss by the splashing voices of a pool

God, I need to know what happened to those who tried to cross.

Forgive me, please, for continuing to believe that roses are beautiful.

“Tell me about the things you can’t tell me about when I’m dressed.”

All of this leaves me floating in seas of prehistory and indeterminacy.

A world of adventure awaited, a world of beautiful, available women.

We would just roll down the old biology road like all the other suckers.

What felt like sanctity now felt like nothingness, like death.

He folds on himself like a sheet kicked off the foot of a bed.