Naugahyde face-making with a swivel chair expert sacramental ashtray flicking smoking laws be damned no one has a story to tell but there...

Her story’s naked but her city is clothed. It wears fog like ermine—soft white, with spots that hide old truths but let her new sins...

Where comfort starts with a strap. you decorate your arm with a spike and are complete, like an overflowing ditch. You’d love to think...

Two women lie together against the cold bed, hips and elbows sharp against winter- hardened foam. Hands marked by bedlice, clasping damp...

once i prayed  God, destroy everything that attempts to break us apart . i knew the way His people saw me, their eyes pleading for my...

I. The faded-mulberry lunchbox slumps on the counter. Soft-edged rectangle haphazard beside the sink. A smush and ick. The scent of old...

watched a pickle drop in the so-called pickle capital of the world one of many new years I rifle through the rolodex through the aughts...

for Bill T. Jones, “both a provocation and a comfort" he does love the slash/ both at once although/not as one Still/Here Story/Time’s...