Sometimes, it’s both fun and instructive to set for yourself ridiculous writing constraints: No semicolons, no words an tenth-grader wouldn’t know, find a story to begin with this line, &c. The same way everyone’s grandmother does the jumble or crossword (in pen) to keep her brain limber and nimble, I use Facebook’s . . . → Read More: Ten Sentences About Two Dreams
You have a photograph of me that I don’t remember. You offer it up and tell me that it’s you behind the camera. I am giddy, dapper, Devil-eyed. You say it was your il a maturé birthday in a walnut-paneled room. And it doesn’t matter that neither of us is sure we’ve met before now, . . . → Read More: Phototropism
I would no longer know your real face in a crowd. I only recognize wax paper skin, bedsores, baldness and thrush; the you that looked melted in the sun: a thalidomide. This you had spread through memory by the capillary effect, like the expanding puddle of your piss—the time you yanked the catheter and wet . . . → Read More: Ignoring Your Corpse
Recent Posts
Negative Space Tacked awkwardly onto the end of a long-unopened file, I just stumbled upon the first work of fictio...
Presents
As is evident from even a cursory examination of the post dates of this website, it's been a whi...
Still Missing Flight Myself I'm pleased to announce that my collected poems are now available for purchase as Still Missing Flig...