I have a thing for droopy-eyed men.

Maybe we need a few more windows-rolled-down drives out to the country with good tunes cranked up

The last words you will hear in this world/ will be a lie, but when you’re high, you never/ consider how scary Paradise can be/ to snakes

here were girls who sank/ a thousand leagues beneath his hips/ and never bobbed back for air. I came ashore/ in a body of my own, crooked gate/ and piano fingers

Bill and Mary were leaving because Mary felt old, when a woman’s hand fell on his shoulder.

A sky
like an enormous
Friedrich Nietzsche-looking
manhole cover
tries to explain your mind
to you.

For the past few years J and I have lived next to a grocery store. It glows at night. If you listen you can hear the hum. 

i challenge my body/ wearing all white/ i lay down/ only to need to sit up/ i lay down i wish i was/ my own alarm

I won’t apologize for trying to forget the days I spent with you, riding pillion on your Honda, inhaling Bombay’s foggy polluted streets, sitting on rickety wooden benches of hole-in-the-wall Indo-Chinese joints, slurping Szechwan noodles and sipping Tom Yum soup, strolling on Juhu’s wet sandy beaches, letting the ocean wash our feet.

it is in the museum of three years/ that i hide dog teeth and seashells./ your semen in my belly button that/ i secretly finger in the grocery store/ milk aisle.

Two weeks after the scientist’s freak exposure, a man in black arrived at his front step. It was the weekend, and the man in black... more

The goal of short fiction is up for debate, but it seems to me that, if a story has a single job, it is to subvert the expectations of the reader.

Tonight a boy goes to a field where he knows a horse has died.

You told Mrs. Miller you had to make up a clarinet lesson so you needed to leave class early and she believed you, the old bat, even... more

I’m shoving fat candles into dirt,
blowtorching the wicks and tooting
horns.

I couldn’t render enough tallow
to properly honor... more

I make him coffee, I make hot chocolate for his kids, and sometimes I buy his weed.

April

A cycle with seven edges
equals my dream of bicycle spokes
jutting towards the center
of an ice cream bowl. Don’t tell... more

This whole album is full of wandering. Play it at a high altitude, and the line might fade entirely between dream and reality.

start with the word catholic and an image surfaces—what first? Brother Aquinas adorned in black robes, his large gold cross (or was it silver) swinging from hip-to-hip, his cloaked arms holding tight the Bible to his chest, in reach of his heart.

People are just the mares under their craft.

You were dead: tiny birds of glass littered the road like jeweled confetti for a New Year’s bash.

The cousin had called my thesis advisor and said something like, “Hey, film professor cousin, can you do this film for us?” and my thesis advisor was like, “Hey, no. But I know a guy who is still unemployed four months after graduation and is about to get evicted.”

Or more specifically its monster, long tail whisper in our swimming pool: in a valley girl’s mind. 

We spent that summer on Dad's couch trying not to move, because if we didn’t move we wouldn’t spend

The Great God Pan

Dibs

In Chicago, we use dibs to take
ownership of what we will never own.
Traffic cones, rusted patio chairs, strollers,
a... more

He started as a single Clay Aiken, the one we all knew with the smiling face and aw-shucks demeanor

Her first reaction was to laugh: "That's so like you, Camilla, to lose an entire car." 

If this were paint it’d be asymptotic, red.

A girl on my train is watching Kylie Jenner’s snapchat. I lean in and watch over her shoulder. I can't hear, but it doesn't really matter.