Stars, cigarettes bright, oblivious to the dawn, the dew, the ground damp beside you; enfold in crook and sweat and slough. I breathe and…
after Wisława Szymborska I prefer black tea. I prefer the green olives. I prefer depth to shoreline, the marshlands to the safety of the…
Nothing’s open here at 2 a.m. except the Waffle House on the edge of town. Cigarette smoke wrapped in fried-egg-smell smacks me in the…
She decides that we need to celebrate, takes me to buy shoes: black suede ballerina flats to show off the high arch of my…
I told my friend the reason I don’t go to therapy: I would lie to any therapist and adjust my problems according to what…
In sixth grade, Mrs. Nerbonne assigned us the poem “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost. We had to memorize and…
According to Jezebel.com, Brad Pitt is coping with his breakup with sculpture, weed, and by listening to Bon Iver. This is cliché and almost…
Bird-bodied, women-headed and so hungry: the food that spills over pendulous breasts, the wine that stains belly-fat, vulva. The crease, the folds, the flesh…
The frozen crab legs and artichoke dip and french fries. Endless chardonnay on the porch at dusk and a cigar and my step mom…