Old Dave, 2/4

“Was she beautiful?” I asked him, smiling. “Your wife?”  He looked at me, long and strange, his yellow eyes wavering, glancing down, coming back to me. He opened his mouth a little, his… Continue reading

little snake

I dissolve,  right away, on contact.  Nothing to it. Drip, drip, drip  and I am gone. My head is plenty empty, like your bones just laying there.    I have become an entire… Continue reading

ho hum poem

Write when you want to write. It’s a compulsion that feeds your soul. These are the things I tell myself, my gnawed fingers, my smoky hair and hands. Catch it before it flees.… Continue reading

George Zimmerman and Tom Wolfe

I’m reading The Bonfire of the Vanities by Tom Wolfe for the first time, and meanwhile I’m watching the George Zimmerman trial every day on CNN. I’m thinking about how stories get retold, how they… Continue reading

In the Kitchen

This is how it always goes, right? How things are and how things were lose hold of themselves and crumble. The crumbs are leftover on the kitchen counter, in the light of the fridge at… Continue reading

Old Dave, 1/4

“Oh, you think that’s gonna be enough for you?” Old Dave said loudly, his tongue thick and slurring with bourbon. “A wife and two kids, an above ground pool.” He snorted. “If you’re lucky.“… Continue reading

Lost Things

(Part Two) Down the hillside into the still-cold morning shadows, Michael was on his knees peering into a small hole in the ground. Melissa joined Lisa, who stood nearby watching.  Michael’s body sprang… Continue reading

flash fiction/Lost Things

The dawn was breaking as the little group crested the hill. Melissa wrapped her arms tightly around herself as the procession came to a halt. Cold drops of condensation fell onto her skin… Continue reading

almost flash fiction/Morning Sickness

I wake up in a fog and there is roaring. Lights pop in front of my bleary eyes. My feet creep like rickety spiders towards the carpet, the caked grit and dirt and… Continue reading

The Day I Found My Poetry/Show Don’t Tell

I remember everything about the first poem I wrote except the most important thing- what exactly it said. Whatever it was, it was scribbled on a small piece of paper. It was maybe… Continue reading