Inside, in the unforeseen, where the sounds of dust susurrus, we glimpse rainbowed light above the shadows. Will we ever reach there, we ask?

Wonders I. Wonders we.

Excerpt from Centers for Disease Control: Obesity in Central Florida, February 2019.

Wes Urban, 32 years of age, 298 lbs.

We weren’t always like this. How fat we are is what I mean. Most of

You stare down at the departed. The fulgurites of your heart chattering. She was, man, an episode. An emitter of staggering forked words...

My boyfriend hit me in the face with a book. It was an accident, his hitting me. He only meant to hand me the book. He meant to hand the book back to me. But my face was in its path, he said.

Slowly he became aware he was no longer traveling down his back-entrance staircase.

Whatever crop and bung was leftover he burned in a large heap of muzzy smoke and lapping flame and when it was chopped down to ash and live glowing charcoal ember, he drug the spreader over the field, everything still burning and here and there little volcano puffs of flame and the iron wheels sizzling themselves...

Maria say she gon' tell me the future. She say she know. Mama taught her, but Maria had that gift, not her mama. The real kind. She'd seen all kinds of things 'fore they happen, like her brother shot dead in that parking lot, she'd seen it all four days before it happened.

What you gon' tell me I don't already know? I say.

“We’re playing Memory Palace. It’s a medieval memory technique. If you need to remember a list of things, you pick a place that you remember well, like your childhood home or your office or your apartment, and you make a narrative...

If it hadn’t been for my day job, I never would have gone to Steve’s Shoes. I was a personal assistant to a famous actor’s wife, which meant I did the errands she didn’t want to be bothered with.

There were wolves near there. Wolves killing sheep. Poetry is dead. He thought. He could lend a hand.

Kathryn was doing all she could to get her son to touch his food again. She wanted him to eat. “I don’t know what to do,” she said to the doctor. “I don’t know what’s wrong.” The pitch of her voice

A hand over your mouth. A hush in the darkness. It’s the girl, whose name reminds you of another, who you remember marrying in some uncertain future or almost-forgotten dream.

The man woke up and walked to the bathroom. He relieved his bladder and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked at the clock. 6:25. He could either go back to sleep or head down to the basement

A panel of grandfathers lived in the girl like a Greek chorus. One day she woke and they were building themselves bleachers. After that they didn’t do anything. Tired, they complained. They shouted

The Platonic Man cries whenever I cry. Tears will be streaming down my face and I’ll look up and he’ll be dabbing his eyes with a cloth napkin. 

"I know why you cry,” I say at the Cuban

She said, during the commercial break, that she was a fan of westerns. I said, I loved the train heist trope. She told me that we were going to wait on dinner, or that we should order in. I said, I

We pull into the campground and it’s just like I imagined it would be: chaparral scrub receding to oaks and firs as we move up into the mountains on a gently winding road. You’d never know we’re

To London With Love

Artist: Wilhelm Blech
Album: Musicus Miscellanous; Christian Dean & Musica Immunda
Label: DNS

I am always looking outside myself for traces of the person I

At night the air waits for Cassidy the way it does for a fuse to free its load. Then the great burst air gets to be, the blues and pinks and falling greens of fleurs-de-lis the stars might have

The first time I fingered a girl, I messed it up. Of course, I didn’t realize at the time. It happened on a Friday night, at a playground. There were four of us there. Two girls, two boys. It was a very open thing. The girl who I fingered said she’d let me try, and we sent our friends to the basketball court to wait for us. 

Guildenstern flips the coin and holds it out for Rosencrantz to see.

“Heads,” Rosencrantz says. “Again heads.” He turns around. “So we were sent for?”

Guildenstern flips the coin. “I hear

Captain’s Log: Captain Richard L. Hiltonshire, HMS Evoque, North Carolina Coast. May 12, 1801

The Coast is in sight. America, I pray, although with all that has gone astray on this cursed

In my mind, I had already built a Lego wall around the perimeter of the yard, tall as the Siamese twin magnolia trees I sometimes sat in...

I was in this movie. I was in this movie. I was in it. I was there. I was ripping in and out of the titles as they blinked across the screen. I was swimming through the avocado walls into the house

Burns looks out toward the road. He puts a hand up to the glass and shakes his head. “I can’t believe this,” he says, his breath fogging the double-paned, oversized bay windows. “You’re not going