Explore

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

Our brains interpolate from surrounding images, fooling us.

My brother could Wichita wheelbarrow like I never could.

Not all his children love themselves. Look at little Adrienne.

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 will tell you about the sick. They are ruthless, they are like Attila.

I will tell you about the sick. They are ruthless, they are like Attila.

When the light failed she listed all the places he might find her.

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

Men came over carrying lanterns and pulled away the chunks of ice.

The sense all along has been that there’s some madness in her.

I don’t know you, I only think of you to ignore how unhappy I am.

We could use our arms to squeeze or hold or load not a gun, not a gun.

She takes her hand to my scalp: eyes close as if tasting lemon cake.

Turns out my body’s a dollar sweet potato, her screen said.

We could have everything and still be hurt.

With cane in hand I felt a twinge of superiority to the crutch people.

The kissed fingerpad touched wet with wine orbiting.

No one plans a trip to the emergency room. No one succeeds.

He’d always wanted to kiss her thigh dimples but never dared.

Cerberuses ran in packs, terrorizing drunks who fell in the snow.

The door opened, and Dan stormed in, shouting, “Motherfuckers!”

All my life I wondered what it is to vanish like a ring of smoke.

If only to hold on by opening lord give me this one eighth day

Rain falls steadily, rattling down drainpipes and gurgling into gutters.

I wonder if those tiny computers in pigeons’ brains ever crash?

Ella knew she hadn’t hurt Sebastian, but she knew she’d betrayed him.

I miss sex. I really liked it, and I was good at it, if I do say so myself.

Mama would say beware of the little flaws that make one homely.