1 Sure, she wears men’s trousers, but that’s not all she does You make me want to say that while doing dangerous performance art Decrying the existence of men You make me want to wear carabiners and get a social work license You make me want to look at my large wristwatch and say…
A Careerist in Wonderbra, everywhere She looked hung Her sparkling, floating fruits. Coolly inclined, yet fleet in coltish air—no union shop. Her ruby throne floats aloft the nascent void. Below, a tribe of naked, scrappy, sweating cherubs inscribes Her word, remands to forge a fusty pair of virgin, sapphire tablets. No, not a…
You can’t resist the humor of the notion The painting could be Burroughs’ inspiration for Naked Lunch. This cantankerous conversation with the history of art On the face of it strikes you as some kind of joke – It seems more some wag’s surgically witty snipe At the libertine French than a scene with serious…
What if we could get rich From experiences What if our time In exotic places Or even a walk in the woods Counted as valuables Raising our net worth in joy We could display Our adventures like jewels Laid out on a velvet cape My trips to Italy Could have bought a house My bliss…
Their rivalry had been afoot for a few years now. Both were well-regarded young writers of novels and short stories, and both men’s work appealed to much the same sophisticated readership. Some reviewers had even ventured to opine that the two were like two peas in a pod, and that their names might almost be…
Whenever anyone at McDonald’s or any other place in his hometown of Lamesa, Texas, sixty miles south of Lubbock, would ask Sonny Echols Jr., “What’s it like over there?” he wouldn’t tell them about Royce Humphrey who burned alive in the Humvee in Rustamiyah, Iraq, October six, 2009, at 0800 hours in front of police…
They sat on the beach, the girl with the crinkly hair and the girl with the secrets. The air, the light, the season were chocolate cherry liqueurs, heat bursting but outside, the chill. The girls had their hands in their pockets and the girl with the secrets felt her heart, when it beat, press inside…
After deciding to call it quits again, we drive together back to our separate lives, my recently ex-boyfriend and I. Still don’t know why, we didn’t wait until the end of our vacation to say goodbye. Now we’re trapped in a car together passing through old towns and past brown signs marking history, lost lakes,…
You mumble, your head burps nonsense, words a river of babble-rousing slippitude – lids close like Viked pythonic lips. You don’t see me, fingers flexed, lusting. You’ll never open your eyes…again. Thank you. We’ll be in touch. he tucked his tail and scrabbled into the hall, past rows of dudes disarmingly like him, cigarette sparked…
In the lobby, after the show, “Dad,” you said, and touched his shoulder. That was all I heard, or needed to. I sat here once, your fingers said. I saw the world you showed me. The view was what it was— a bay, a bridge, a vacation or two. Perhaps a parade or a just-reached…
