It’s been six months now, long enough for her to question what she’s done. She’s somewhere between calling it off and convincing herself it still might work if she can

Consider the moon, my friend, how its absence conjures this unromantic air. Here in the bar, smoke unwinds like bolts of slow lightning across the gauzy light; everywhere you look

Godzilla walks into a bar. He’s much smaller than you’d expect, really. Scaly, dark, and haggard. He’s been sleeping it off for centuries, all that rage, dust and ashes washed

My neighbor leads a life of fiction and once in a while invites me in—to make believe she’s got a spotless apartment, a couple kids, religion.  It’s hard to keep

Here’s the body the dogs robbed— the limbs strewn around the field like prophecy. She won’t make it, they say. They say the body found in her bed was eaten

What difference between crying and calling, cursing and summoning, the frantic limbs of a lamb and the bared legs of a boy. What difference between the desire to laugh at

A child teethes. Through the door, a loop of scream and whimper traces the length of the porch. Morning, I find the blood left by the raw gums rubbed like

A telephone splices the night—lit nerve ending or lightning strike—and the child rises all lung, all mouth and howl. The man rises from inside the mother, rises from the casts

Bonnet cocked, ears flopped, under a wig prop he said, what matters is truth fur muzzle, tooth dazzle, scent of blood and vermouth the truth about people flat iris sparkle