we raise a glass to you
and your narrow-hipped swagger
your unflinching blue eyes your half-smile
your pacing on porches your small cups of comfort
the bile rising your steady hands your
swift feet ready to flee crime-scenes as yet
undiscovered your quick
violence your sordid past your
unwashed sheets and naked pillows
your heap of bathtowels your bravado
your sly flirtations and notes passed [...]
I often fantasize about the life I might have had, had I not boarded the plane home from Spain. I love rose wine. I don’t know how to make the accent on “rose” in Linux. I fall in love too easily. I miss Savannah, but I don’t want to live there because I think I [...]
Once I wrote a smutty story and left it on a park bench. Three-thousand dollars is the most money I have ever made in one month. I am overwhelmed with nostalgia when I think of the tiny, overpriced room I lived in at 282 Broadway in Brooklyn. I believe that most accidents happen near home. [...]
I cannot throw a punch, though I have tried. I think I am a decent writer, but I think I am a better poet. I hate love poems. Dinner tonight is rigatoni and sauce from a jar. There was no dinner last night. I do not mind romantic comedies. I can be a bit of [...]
“Going Back to China” by Willis Barnstone (From 5 a.m. in Beijing: Poems of China). A perfect companion to today’s suddenly cool weather and the view from my bookshop’s wingback chair, where I watch for people who never come in.
Outside, the full moon is memory light
knifing those of us who look up and remember.
People drive [...]
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