It’s the little things you remember when you die. The children. The moments. Your face after achieving multiple simultaneous orgasms. The orgasms. The presidential campaigns, the incipient volcano underlying the western half of the continental U.S. It’s the little things … Read More
People change. People estrange. The wear and tear on the asbestos flange took my grandfather at seventy-five. My grandmother is alive, and turning eighty. The moon landing is forty. I am twenty. Ten, five. The moon is a Kennedy penny … Read More
y November you already thought of returning,
rubbing Vaseline into your palms and the crevices
of your cracked heels. No napalm rained down in a foreign land,
no birth dates streamed across the screen to push our brothers into war.
There’s a house a half an hour south of town, built of stones my father hauled from down the road in his old Ford Fairlane. He built it for my mother when she asked. A rare man sees the monument … Read More
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING One time when I was walking down the street, I saw Kenneth Branagh. I said, Hey! Kenneth Branagh! I loved your adaptation of _Much Ado About Nothing_! And your work in _Wild Wild West_! I mean … Read More