She glances into a pocket mirror. She is WIFE now. She doesn’t need to go through her lines, she’s been doing this for years.

Kentucky Swami

(For Tim Skeen)

                         "Poetry / makes nothing happen" –Auden

                        "yet men die miserably every day / 
                        for

Michele Lee woos my husband through the screen and also through the decades.

Abdullah greeted me outside of the Jaipur, India train station, asking if I needed a ride. He was quick to show me his official license, knew where my hotel was located and did not make false claims about it having burned down recently, a popular scheme according to my Lonely Planet guidebook. 

When we consume ourselves, of course / we think no one cares enough to watch.

Starting today, we've got a new feature:  "Sunday Comics"!

Basically, we're going to start serializing some longform comics, with a new installment every Sunday. We're starting with three of

Them are SOME horns, aren't they.

Hey Elizabeth-- Haven't you ever wanted to fly?

I'm just like everyone else... A person drinking coffee...

“Surely there are lonely people out there who would like to talk to me about the books they ignore.”

Forgetfulness

The presenter pronounces "vista" as VEE-sta.
And that's all I really remember.

Logic Models

This is my logic model for love (just keep moving).
This is my logic

I was nineteen the summer of 1956 when the Baseball Fairy tapped me with her wand and almost sent me into orbit. 

Junior is not getting out of his car.

It’s January in Ohio, and he has just driven all night from Florida. This car—a 1991 Nissan 300ZX—is a beautiful ride, a rich deep cherry color, the colors

“But what if it isn’t broken? What if this is the way it’s supposed to be? Like, a new challenge that keeps things interesting. Something unexplainable that helps.”

Baseball Players I Remember (I Watched Baseball 1-4 Years as a Child. I Collected Cards. My Favorite Team Was The Braves)

Ron Gant. I remember he bent his knees
in a weird, intriguing way

Every time our son comes to the plate, I hold my breath.

When I was fifteen, I started receiving letters from Division I baseball coaches about the possibility of joining them on such and such Elysian Field and helping the squad reach its goal, which

I didn’t become a fan of baseball until I was in my early twenties. As a teenager, I thought sports were antithetical to the sort of arty, book-reading persona that I had been trying so hard to affect.

They are the junk-baller, the relic, the trickster, the reinvention, the resurrection. A synonym for “reliever” could be “healer.”

When the time came for its demolition, there was no implosion at Shea Stadium.

I trace the windup with my elbow, my arm like a wing
unfurling, red lace licking off my feathertips.

I’m not one of those guys who watches the ball launch
off the bat into the right field seats.