Live Write or Die!
It was a night class during my first year at the State University of New Paltz. I thought “Interpersonal Communications” would be an easy A,
“In Penny Lane there is a barber showing photographs Of every head he’s had the pleasure to know And all the people that come and
His hands grip my cheeks, tugging at the flares of my crow’s feet. He is desperate for eye contact; he begs for it with his
In my opinion there are times when eating in public should be illegal. Eating citrus in any communal place is one of them. The scent
I’m with you in… Rockford, where the sock monkeys sing working songs to no one Rockford, where the steel beams keep climbing and climbing
Romantic disaster is originally a Latin dish, though it has been so universally beloved that it has taken on local flavors wherever it is prepared.
The pill has its own ontology. Its scored bisection is not just a pharmaceutical convenience but a goddamn epistemological event horizon. Fifteen milligrams. Twice daily.
It begins the night before. After dinner—roasted beef, dark from the pot and a jacket potato your mother punctured and filled with butter—you went to
I dated this guy on and off for about a year, about a year ago. Well, to say “date” would be generous. We had a
Poverty is the Fifth Horseman of Apocalypse that the Bible never told us about. We know the other four: Death, Famine, War and Pestilence. If
Babanbaba died when his youngest was only two, and he left behind girls and boys that grew up to become aunts and uncles. His wife
No delayed A train or cancelled C train or suspended F train would delay their meeting. Her sweater was pink. Her cheeks, rosy. She skipped
The first thing I do upon waking is listen for the bell. If it rings once, Cynthia has remembered what hunger feels like and wants
Man walks in the door. Girl is waiting for him at the bar. They kiss quickly on the lips. “How did you get here?”
“Mr. President, you’ve got to help me. I have nothing left,” pled the desperate man. “Rudy, I am sorry, but you did this to yourself.”
Chris, Boris, and Betsy face the audience in a cramped car bouncing along a dark country road. Its beams pick up dark deciduous forests and
The clock is ticking down. The clicking of laptop keys. Whispering when there shouldn’t be. Whispered greetings after a long break. Clack, clack, clack go
I have a talent for lying. People don’t believe me when I say this. It’s the Midwest in me, rooted deep— the tendency for enthusiasm
Cameron finally got home, right before midnight. I looked up from the TV and was glad he was alone. I hated his loser friends. He