There is a lack of sleep, you understand. Against his ears, the hair brushes in and he lets his body jump each time. Under his back, the dust pushes center and he wont notice until morning when the cluster falls and tickles his ankle. He is sleepless, thinking of profound entrance ways, of the unlit rooms where people fantasize and scurry and drink ( Read more... )

There was a time neither of us could read the papers in the morning. We disagreed so loudly the small human dignity, we think, of knowing of the 33-year old woman who was shot and killed by the man leaving this house with her toddler is left to question itself, lying on the table, ashamed of soaking up so much rain before anyone could pick it off ( Read more... )

today after work was closed and we were all climbing to the door, a boy who i have never really spoken to said, "happy birthday." i was so shocked that anyone would say happy birthday to me, or know that it was coming up, that i mumbled a thank you and left rather than point out to him that my birthday is not until next sunday.

During the night he'd woken with sweat collecting together, forcing ripples against his eyebrows. They fell back and dripped slowly along his scalp, through the forest of hair. He pulled his hand through and cleared himself of the feeling that his body was being ditched in the Atlantic. His eyes remained glazed over and heavy. He imagined seeing ( Read more... )

We apologize for all the things we cannot accomplish. On the phone yesterday I told a friend how things are not always possible and you cannot jump off the roof and not hit the pavement and you cannot put your torso on backward and you cannot be forgiven for a petty mistake you made months ago because most people don't care what you have to say ( Read more... )

he sees the horse dying. the fingers in his pant pocket push against him. as if to pinch, as if to yank the skin from his thigh. with his other hand loosely around his mouth, he slides his fingers in-between his bottom lip and his teeth. he thinks of peeling an orange ( Read more... )

colorful sweater, how you looked exhausted but were not, marvin gaye alongside a carousel, that i counted taxis to myself, incredible hulk balloon,

i rest so many hours of a day. where you left, i kept your things. the chair across the entrance way, alongside the window, is where i folded your shirts to a stack. when a shot of light comes through, it all turns gold. i once found you gazing out to the street as you washed; and where you stood i hid my loneliness. here, waiting for the light to ( Read more... )

Early October, you and I wander past the downtown shops while you flash your smile at the passersby. The air is thick enough to carve sculpture from. At a dress store, you stop me and point in to the window at a pair of white driving gloves. I watch a man in a derby hat buying a scarf with a brightly colored pattern and an off white trim that, with ( Read more... )

we're the stillness that we see on the ceiling. we lay looking to the top and feeling no farther from it than if it were to be a thousand miles up. you touch your forehead to my shoulder and whisper about sadness. we list the words that make us feel so alone. light bulb, speak, option. i ask you, what is the happiest word? 'tooth,' you say. we go ( Read more... )