most of the time / i am / bored and warm

It’s getting harder and harder to shave my pussy, let alone the tight star of my asshole.

I was a mess at every sunrise. The door winked at me, the comb was losing teeth.

1.

I cut through the small park. Come out the other side. As soon as I do I feel eyes on me. I look up from the sidewalk. He's standing down the block and on the other side of the busy cross

blm land

this belt of the nation feels equally
bible and rust and sun, where
mute billboards offer us
teeth cleaning for pets.
my molars resound
for the dogs,
dumb and deep-eyed,
and they

The term “unreliable narrator” was first coined in 1961 by the critic Wayne C. Booth, and since then it has become one of fiction’s most recognizable elements. While initially viewed as something

Let’s create fake accounts and try to seduce each other. 

I used to part masses. To wade through throngs of children cheering. Boogie would press play on the cassette, and I’d come through the crowd instead of take the aisle. I’d roll on the trampoline and stand above a field of pumping fists. 

I call that year my wandering year or my train station year or my year of the lucky rat year. It was 1996 and I was pregnant with my first child, Boris––born with a strong heart, Boris.

You would be forgiven for thinking Vegas is not the place for you. 

I can almost split your face in two.

She had gorgeous hair, long and dark -- I like to wrap it around my neck after we make love and fall asleep like that. 

We were there to see Belgian metal band Oathbreaker. And I bought a Khemmis shirt, in part because theirs was one of the best, most metal, riffiest sets I’ve ever seen and in part because their shirts were the kinds of all wizards and skulls that you want in a metal shirt. But it was Jaye Jayle I found most hypnotic.

The first thing you need to know about being a Disney is that you should avoid letting anyone know that you are one.

The book reveals as much about the reader’s psyche, about the self and the readers’ reaction to reading it, as it does about the author— this deeply personal thing, a dream, so full of symbols we imbue with our own shared and cultural meanings.

The neighbor comes to my door with my keys in his hand: I'd left them in the mailbox earlier, or maybe yesterday, or the day before that.

Nemo me impune lacessit - pueri et infirmi, qui scripsit in pupa.

It’s not the enormity of the half-eaten doughnut. 

Malek's our man for Malek on Malek

His new girlfriend makes things with her hands. You know. Things. Candle holders out of twigs. A mosaic picture frame out of broken up bits of CDs.

Because I love in the manner of eating I am sure whatever I take from you will pass.

You gather one brush, one can of paint, one room, and one hand tethered to attention.

He's lying in bed thinking about his imaginary lover. He's not touching himself, he doesn't think about him when he does, only maybe in the very final moments. 

As far as structure goes, I’ve always been interested in the way fragments of narrative can play off one another. All of my novels have been puzzles—games—that I’ve created for myself.