Carefully open the wrapping paper. Inside is Teddy Ruxbin. See his stupid face on the box. Fuck you, Teddy Ruxbin. He reads you bedtime stories if you put a cassette tape in his abdomen.

I grew up in grass but here / everything is bladeless, // hair thinned past feathers, / sheets slick enough to grease a boar.

They sat on the grassy bank, clothes clinging to their wet bodies, watching the river flow. A few raindrops splashed on the surface, tiny dimples rushed away downstream. Neither of them bothered to point out that it was going to rain.

I was at a party for the end of the world. I came so I wouldn’t be alone. I guess so did all the other women. They must have known there’d be no men at this party because they wore beautiful

my parents taught me to say ‘surrender’
in a dozen foreign languages.

I’m in the parking lot, I’ve got Sarah’s prescription, Sarah’s my wife, and I see him.

Osama bin Laden.

 Please, I need those thick markers from the craft store, you know, the ones that color far away from each other; you turn the corner into golden golden golden any night

“I saw you by the river last night,” Amy says, her eyes still closed and half-covered by strands of almond-brown hair. “Why didn’t you follow me?” 

my angst is still young / and highly flammable / something interrupted / meant to be read out of order / one chord change to another

Love Story (1970, dir. Arthur Hiller)

It’s comical that the rich kid with a building at Harvard named after his family is a hockey bruiser while the baker’s daughter not good enough to marry

Before Nathan underwent surgery he made a list for if he survived, though it wasn’t that severe or threatening a procedure.

Digital Hellos

An erroneous message of two equals,
in a future program.

The Internet was given an italicized quote
above a colored text box,
he may have wanted to kill me.

This

After, we slunk back to Mema’s Alaskan Taco Hut and I crawled into a booth and ordered with two fingers like we were stuck in a Mad Men b-reel. I couldn’t see my hand held up, but from this

I am trying to come out to my father / but all he wants to talk about / are the 1985 Chicago Bears

Before roosting in the city, starlings dive—
five thousand deep in flock. Like cells they follow the
law of localization. Bound by surroundings. Step into a

crowded elevator and take on

“We made out once,” my sister says. I thought “I was in love with him for a night.”

We wiped down, scraped, rearranged, shook out, swept, mopped, vacuumed, stripped, waxed, sealed.

Welcome to Hobart Photo Stories, a one stop shop for photos that will excite the brain, the eye and the heart.

—Tara Wray, photo editor 

Julie Hrudova works and lives in

Southerners think that West Virginia is the north, and northerners think West Virginia is the south. 

No one should become a new parent at my age.