The porch light throws shadows on the far side of the canyon.
Every hero the writer must approach only approximately. The eyes, for example, must resemble Roman candles, like the eyes of the actors in Wilhelm Meister arriving at night in freight wagons before the castle of a count, as noted in Jean Paul’s School for Aesthetics.
My lover shuffles the deck, fanning the cards into a bridge. The cards arc like a rainbow, then fly wildly through the air like fish hurling out of the water into the mouths of bottled-nosed dolphins that leap to catch them in their hungry mouths.
My nights are packed with mourning—barn swallow in the closet, fishhook attached to its beak.
It’s raining again, you say. Near flow and no-slip. Car on the curvature of space and time and boxed wine. Here: the clear empty well of a disappointed glance.
Way up in Alaska I found the man who loved me. He could no longer move his feet. I found him half-dead, staring upat the sky, looking for a helicopter.
We have begun the experiments. Peek-a- Boo Birdhouse, with two-way mirror so the
girls can spy on chirpy hatchlings, watch cartoons, and cry.
The coffee spill added a familiar sentiment to an otherwise simple postcard.
After the bruised body recovered, after being shoved
into a car, after the knot in the temple subsided after
a platter of fried chicken smashed into her head, her
mamma took her girls to the Holiday Inn and hid.
The nurse left work at five o’clock. My heart stopped beating at 5:01. There
was no one in the room when I died and no one to notice the miracle of my return
The only way we can properly forge into a
dark future is to bring along our oboes. Bring
them high. Bring them low.
Once upon a time there was elaborate plumbing, then people started shitting in
the woods again. Once we worshipped goddesses who bore children—now we
want mothers back to work in twelve weeks.
In the realm where infants, like comets, show up in flames, igniting
as soon as they make contact with the air, all of the delivery room
I was prepared to answer the first question, have you ever wanted to kill someone?
But it completely threw me off when they asked, have you ever wanted to keep
A snow leopard, a tree, an owl. Her favorite is any winged creature. Bats,
In the barren cold camp, you wear a dusty cape and top hat, wave my cane as if it were a wand and tell me your dream-stories, one after the next, your words spun and tossed like tethers into the air.
Ignis, the flaming wreckage, bubbling rubber, liquified cloth, her skin charred and blistering, acrid smoke, the tiny thunders of survival’s kicks
It’s been twenty minutes since the first bolt of lightning ripped a scar through the purple night sky. Since my mother said to swim in the rain ― it’s fun. Since her boyfriend Colin said he’d join us― to check we’re ok.