Like, what the fuck is this dude’s problem?

And as I darkened, I needed nothing.

  There were times I could barely leave bed, but he insisted we spend weekends in Palm Springs.

No one answered her when she asked where they were taking me. I'd heard of people being dumped in parking lots. I'd heard of people being flown to Texas, to fucking El Salvador, legal citizens with no practical recourse.

This was my chance! I moved to the seat in front of her and we lay across our seats and laughed together like a yin-yang necklace coming back together.

or because I’d seen him unwrap the extra large condom and suddenly longed, anxiously and fatuously like a girl wanting her stuffed animal, for my first boyfriend who weighed less than me

I smoke on the drive to the corporate bookstore, where I slip Eve Babitz’s Sex and Rage into my fur coat.

according to some, no unicorns were on noah’s ark 

The written word, music, visual arts. These, if done well, are the unconscious sneaking past the curtain. Using language to self-implode Logic. Some real Matrix shit.

We're given breath, also the mystery of life.

If I tell you what’s in the bag, will you let me continue to play dumb?

Midway through our relationship, he had told me that whenever we had sex, he needed to think of other girls in order to stay hard. He told me everyone did it

One night Evan and I got so drunk on grape liquor that we started making out in the shower

I consider asking Richard if he’ll piss on my book but I’m still too shy.

A Small Gift

…is awareness, at first,

and then it may take over,

for a while, and also recede

if it must, and at times, it must.

That sometimes gentle ebb and flow,

and sometimes

A Little Death

An aggressive Doberman knocked Cindy up weeks later.

She feels her and this bartender, this boy, are doing sex theater. Romance theater. Everything theater.

Another reading.

He lies there, crumpled and ragged—
a pile of unwashed laundry.