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Exit the building. Say nothing to anyone. They did. And they didn’t.

There lay before us a bag that gave forth, at a touch, the jingle of gold.

A dead body leaned sideways against a wall. Its eyes were open.

One of us broke away, cooled, and died, having never fully lived.

Buster’s reasons for looking after Marco weren’t entirely altruistic.

Trump reminded me of the guys I grew up with on Long Island.

They all pivoted to face us, tan mannequins on a conveyor belt.

He bound me to blind obedience, for which I’d shown a propensity.

Histories we spin from lust, our tongues heavy and soaked.

Who needs driftwood when I can bury myself in your loamy soil.

She wears her nakedness like it has been woven from air.

Lebanon’s sky was full of stars. The sky here doesn’t have any stars.

Professor Flacks could tell you everything about James Joyce.

The waves of laughters breach an inlet of cumulus and I’m excited.

You can stand on the edge and tremble with fear or risk your life.

I want to sleep in a bed next to a man who won’t dream of me all night.

insomniacs gesturing in a cave of neon light the narrative of their lives

One day, we will all turn into choir girls—all soft and hollow inside.

God was surrounding the chair, leaves flourishing from a sickly tree.

My “lonelymaking.” Also known as my horrible secret, continent-wide.

In the many pages of the book of love this is only one story.

Even this says nothing of your desire—to be put to use.

Two surgeons vaulted over a counter to hold open my incisions.

It is the one day that is purely American. Yes, a day of celebration.

I repeated the name thoughtfully, then said no, I didn’t think I knew her.

We might have seen it coming, had we not had our eyes fixed on it.

Craig Bueltel

A boy knew he wouldn’t see his mother’s face as he rose from the mat.

Life is a dream, he thought. Something she knew and I didn’t.

All I could focus on was if he was going to ask me to date him.