Smells of home.

Hunger is the courage of having nothing to lose.

The old ladies march

“Oh, it’s definitely our story, Paul.”

Chloe wants her water enclosed, straight.

As I neared the corner of Henry Street, I took out my mobile phone and recorded a video of the surrounding scene, less than a minute in length.

He dreams of broken bottles and the sea. 

I stood in a field of meadowfoam 

Mother, father, forgive me, for I have sinned.

I re-rewind the precious tape 

and read again the note she slipped me

So six months ago Leona showed up at my place in a state of high flustration—her word, not mine—with Myles, her son.

Mr. Dog says he has a very important job

Bull leads, cow follows.

I’m sure there was wine, plum slices, sauce pitchers—

Letters indeed look grander on the screen, you’ll give your cellmate that.

Look at how I never needed you

And so they converse.

It was a summer of killings.

All summer I shadow your band

from the porch

It’s toughened glass, and you only break one pane.