When Cindy’s father gets angry, white spit globs start to form on his lips. I’ve only been living here a few months, but more than once I’ve seen it. They’re fascinating things, hypnotizing almost. It starts with one tiny spot smack in the middle of his lip and every time he shouts he closes his mouth with such fury little clone globs form and ( Read more... )

In the shaking darkness ( Read more... )

Once, as a child ( Read more... )

How deeply you dig ( Read more... )

I am sitting at a bench on Memory Lane ( Read more... )

You are the wind ( Read more... )

It is raining today ( Read more... )

He sat on the bench, knees under him, looking slightly over the backrest. A round, heavyset man sat on the opposite end of the sidewalk. A burned-out cigarette dangled from his lower lip. The man was asleep. The boy focused on the man through a group of passing teenagers chirping like crickets. The last of the group aimed his foot and stepped ( Read more... )

I will forget wearing a suit and tie on sweaty Sunday mornings while a thin man spoke quietly ( Read more... )

I am not ready for Heaven ( Read more... )