By the time I looked over my shoulder, the sun had already fallen.
End of October, days recede quickly into night. Leaves fall in slow motion.
Ah, yes, Rita reminded herself: I won. Her Mistress of Mayhem award.
He phones from across the country after lying in the grass with another.
In the street waiting for a cab, Ann’s boyfriend entrusted me with the story.
And jesse, the smart bombs do not recognize the babies.
I was constantly being torn between belief and disbelief in his narrative.
Ring, ring, ring at 2 a.m. means meth’s got my brother in the slammer again.
The rich man adorns himself and the elegant man gets dressed.
Elsewhere, perhaps here too, regimes stagger, a congress ends.
Grass grows, birds fly, waves pound the sand. I beat people up.
Through the dark, we say, through the dark: but do we ever really know?
I am veins and breath, the entrance the world passes through.
Regarding the affairs of our Father, your demon is Ennui.
I bled. God didn’t want to hear about it. He said unclean and so it was.
I wish I could tell him he’s not going to hell. It would be so freeing for him.
What I want is a woman who knows all the meanings of indulgence.
The story of Wing Biddlebaum’s hands is worth a book in itself.
What is greater: the distance between these bodies, or their need?
He was a child. He was dead. He was the shaft of a Long-tailed Astrapia.
His eyes, dark brown and unwavering as he delivered the details.
I am going to relate to you the most lamentable love affair of my life.
I watched to see how the others lived, not knowing I was the Other.
My wife had time to form a thought: I have killed my daughter.
Logic is such an elegant weapon; and religion, such an easy target.
Forgive me, please, for continuing to believe that roses are beautiful.
The men here don’t know where to place me, call me exotic grail.
Rise the Euphrates, my first novel, grew out of a feverish dream.
Like a bird with a broken wing I will smudge the line of the hopscotch.