Jimmy was dead, and I had slept with all of the eligible coworkers.

I give them all a careful look and say things like, “Oooh, this is an extra special egg.”

Finally, one small voice from the tiniest of the nieces near the couch squeaked, “Fuck Gregor.”

Rehab was called Willow Springs

Now when I see someone hurting, from the loss of a lover, I never say, “You’ll get over it.”

There's some man on the internet and I think he's stalking [redacted] and [redacted] and [redacted]

The sensation of my stomach eating itself into a lovely inward slope sustains me. Keep smiling.

Judging from popular discourse, the novel is in serious jeopardy, perhaps even an endangered artform, having been beset by a myriad of threats that include the advent of the digital age and a

Rawdogging reality
isn’t for the faint of heart

Charlie would never have to be persuaded to eat pussy, I thought to myself as my date’s tongue fumbled with the flaps around my clit.

I couldn’t help but wonder if I was just feeling bad for myself. She was alive. We’re all so strange. It really breaks my heart sometimes. Marisol wanted a young man’s cock. I wanted to give her rose petals. Oh, how full of shit I was.

The following is an excerpt from Smith’s forthcoming acid western novel.

Clem is a worldly fella, but he’s not much for talking so I get fragments here and there. Got to the West from Russia the

J’s task was to ensure each of 3 men that they had a connection with a girl.

She had sent me a video of herself in the bath listening to Elvis, and I watched that over and over.

She wanted to go under beautifully, before decomposition

Forgive yourself, as there is no other option but to forgive yourself.

I’d love to keep her locked away in legends, but she walks and grows among us.

I dreamt of the mystery woman, still faceless, and I woke up haunted.

Fun Legs

Vaguely, like in somebody else’s dream,
one of those strange cell-phone settings ringing.
No it’s the doorbell. Forgot we had one.
I slip on my Hyatt Regency robe.

It’s almost happy

Have you ever wondered why that voice in your head telling you to try harder doesn’t sound like your voice?

She bites at a knuckle hoping to draw her private, savage joy. What’s it taste like? You don’t want to know. You can’t imagine how hard it is to stop after.

You harness the light like the love of a good horse, your word is law among the stars and the sand, patron saint of all things misunderstood in the daytime.

She’s gone. Stop knocking.

What did I do today.

I walked through Costco
dissociated,
watching a woman who looked like me
push a cart
like this is the world.
Like this is what we’re

His unbuttoned shirt, his summer breakfast. The gesture of his mouth was the opening of unsaid words.

The gigolos texted me back while my mom and I watched Zootopia 2

Fury Psalm 6:

Let there be a God, an earth, seasons weathered through a time
for this, for that, for breathing and for holding one’s breath.

Let there be seasons when the moon has nothing to be