I am thinking about the lungfish’s two worlds—the wet one and the dry one—and about metamorphosis. And I am thinking about strokes—about whether it’s the moment that the arm becomes weak that a person’s life goes into pause. Or the moment that the blind spot sets in.
we’re all alone in our corner of need.
It’s customary in Italy to have food during happy hour. I ordered white wine but was nervous to ask for a plate. When I don’t understand what someone is saying I will just say no.
Latvia’s Baltic coastline is almost completely undeveloped except for a few fishing villages and some dilapidated concrete resorts for Communist Party officials. A forest of black pines begins right at the edge of sixty-foot dunes.
Because Math!
In a dream you were chewing your fingers down to the knuckle. My fingers, missing nothing, seem a kind of bloom, fluid as they slide through my mouth and the mouths of others. Sometimes I
a text msg that was sent:
ur hands my hands
both needed if i hit
u first would u hit me back
Seen two hours after I fell in love with you
the text msg that needed 2 be
The program started with Take Your Kid to Work Day. We were pioneers in the field of crime scene investigation. Everything went smoothly as long as the kids didn’t touch anything. They’ve got eyes
1. She told him to shut the window-slats. Every shred of light should be brushed away. She wanted to feel invisible.
From Osama Bin Laden to the WNBA, Jordan Castro and friends explore who/what has sauce, and who/what doesn't.
around you because
I want you to keep thinking of me
as a small body, to wonder what keeps me
so pale, what sustains my Spanish mouth.
Don't ask me what I need,
for
This is not beautiful because this is not beautiful.
I meet a girl on OK Cupid and the first date goes well enough.
There is a room in the cathedral called
"The Quiet Room."
Imagine.
Its entrance, this body too shaky
for comfort.
Janus, god of doorways and beginnings,
when I desire
I've known Tom Williams for a handful of years. I think I originally met him through Barrelhouse, and I've mostly tried to not hold that against him. He is, in the parlance of whoever it is that
I mean, werewolves, they have appetites, don't they?
In her third memoir, Belief is its own kind of truth, Maybe, Lori Jakiela uses a collage-style structure to write about the collage-like process of assembling an identity, and the particular
