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All right. We are perfect. Tomorrow we will make a million dollars.

Here: geeky cyber-warriors crunch cheese Cheetos over keyboards.

Bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, and fill all fruit with ripeness.

They cut you off, let fall your hammered silver bracelets to the sand.

The leaves of the olives were made entirely of night, as if cut out of skies.

Now he chuckles with the sea, stitched within its timeless jive.

The dove calls from far away in itself to the hush of the morning

Hemingway’s The Garden of Eden was edited by Tom Jenks.

How do you beat a man who refuses to rise from a puddle of his own blood.

Everyone has something lodged and jittering inside them.

References to and portrayals of hypocrisy, moral sloth, venery.

A boy in a dress vanishes beneath the sound of his own galloping.

The first rule of the house is that everything must be even stevens.

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

We press closer to look at a picture: a handcuffed boy leaning toward us.

And both of them standing there in late afternoon light, looking back.

“The doors are closed,” she said, and we would not be flying to Paris.

The writer was there ahead of the world. And that was a great moment . . .

My closet was a repository of foibles and fetishes, an archive of my life history.

In that world I was a fish too eager to enter the nets; here, I’m a river.

The angel lay in his body effervescent as a flake of alabaster.

No fields of gold. No ripe. One hill, no wave, no roll. I am billboards.

It’s the roll-up-your-sleeves hour, when you have to make a living.

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

The air has grown inside me. It’s become a sanctuary.

My brother could Wichita wheelbarrow like I never could.

The night shower is a personal pan-blizzard, a folklore-free zone.

I try to believe that even when cords are cut or people die we connect.

After you have read all you possibly can there may be a few lines left.

Kansas is a cold dessert, I say. No, Kansas is a tongue depressor, he says.