my dog dreams of trains [poem]
How a cardboard Princess Leia scared my roommate [short short]
The Full-Time Sentence Finisher [comic]
my dog dreams of trains [poem]
one morning, a few months ago, when it was still awkward to wake up and find your body next to mine, we left your house together, early. still glowing from this new new thing we'd only just discovered hiding inside of one another. we drank coffee and went shopping for new sheets. in the warm car, driving north on 14th street through the frosted grey morning, we talked and smiled, and you reached across the seat and wiped my runny nose with your bare hand. just one seemingly insignificant moment--i knew.
you think she's an open book,
Oh, sweet disappointments that could be waiting for me at the scrap heap! Like all those things that remind me of the time I was breaking up with my eighth grade boyfriend. Sweet Slick vinyl seated dreams of something awfully aqua or puke green. To curl up cozy and make my calves purr into delirious soundlessness. My scalp itches and begs for attention just to think of it.
i've been researching baby names, just in case.
This morning on the way to campus, while I carried my coffee and tried not to slosh it all over my white shirt, just like the idiot words I'd stored up and then spilt all over you without necessary reason, a kid from (what I can only guess is) the school for the challenged ran up and out of the drive and passed me on the sidewalk. His feet pumped against pavement like freedom.
If I had slept at all last night, I'm sure I would have dreamt about pizza. Melted cheesy top like the firey red-gold glow of the burning Fall leaves on an old beautiful tree that I've imagined myself simple and beautiful marrying you in front of while our close friends and family looked on sitting in the grass like perfect picnics on hilltops overlooking the lake near which I first, and then always, wanted you to kiss me.
i'm allergic to my boyfriend's cat
I'm trying to write, but nothing comes out. The last words typed, yesterday--before I found out that I owe more in taxes than I make in over 2 months wages and then cried self-pity intermittently into and out of people who love me and then into my pillow until my alarm rang me into hitting the long glossy give me 10 more minutes bar on the top front edge of my bedside clock--were: ideological divide. Then there's nothing. Then there's this. The slow spiral sirens calling out the tornado alarms yesterday afternoon like the punctuation of the empty spot on my couch that you left. That remained. A pang of the loss left to ring in my ears like a bell that's been struck. The silent ferocious fuck raising blood in the back of my throat to the smell of sun warmed pennies. Memory game. The endless mind suck of time and words.
friday night one of my writer friends asked if i'd read something different at an upcoming special reading in two weeks. i don't really have anything cool or interesting that i've been working on . . . but the idea started simmering in my head that there are people out there who have been writing a lot lately about writing (or not writing) . . . and that if any of those people wanted to write a short something funny or different or whatever about that topic that seems to be on all of our heads that i'd love to read a collection of these thoughts from writers near and far.
He1 says that I am without question the sexiest girl in the department and then sits next to me in the booth far too closely.
crawl under the desk to plug in the corresponding cords then click it on but even before i can finish the 15 second message just to say hello, my voice cracks into tears
and what remains--