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Levinski Park: Abroad, Alone, and Adrift
My friend James is soft-spoken; he talks instead of screaming and whispers instead of talking.
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Beach Baby
Rarely is one so revised by experience, which like a river washes away the calcified sand of the soul to describe itself there anew. Rare, too, is the ability to recognize this revision. School had just ended, its shoulder-weight just dissolved, and I was sitting at a glass table beside the long drive-way leading behind…
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On a Fast
My stomach is parched from having just peed into the muddled ground. And it hurts from having nothing to eat, no ring pops, no soda, no sunflower seeds. It’s an empty hole, a cosmic hole— it could collapse now into itself and be simply a pancake. It could fall over onto my pelvic bone and…