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I had forgotten how to breathe, and then I learned again, all at once.

The onus is on you, because you care about your car and your life.

There isn’t a nice Jewish boy in sight—not that I’m looking for one.

I open the door and Eleanor is leaning against the wall, paper white.

Because I can love every small thing.

Make It Big, all return and rhythm, a groove that plays to the center.

Appearance does not really appear, but it appears to appear.

When the doctors’ voices started turning to noise, I didn’t fight it.

Oh they pay me well. I make a small fortune. Yes they pay me well.

I was lying with electricity. I was already a story being told.

Literary gatherings are a nightmare because writers have no shop talk.

The pickup trucks in this portfolio were photographed in June 2015.

Our eyes searched for the island, but ahead there was only overcast.

At Pompeii the little dog lay curled and did not rise but slept the deeper.

“The basis of literary friendship is mixing the poisoned bowl.”

I’ve got my hands around the man’s legs when I notice the blood.