The boys stood in the vacant lot outside the convenience store, which was closed today due to a special occasion. There was even a sign on the door. Armando was getting high again. Stew was quiet.
To repeat something can be a form of stuckness. But it can also be an ecstatic cry.
He’s still rambling about my womanhood, my untapped, ethereal potential, when I reach for a tissue and blow his hot load out of my nostril.
But her coup de grace was when she started bringing a white boyfriend to our parties. He was a real champion. His name was John.
I did become very close to many people in the McSweeney’s universe. A lot of those people were great, and a lot of them were just ambitious people with no integrity whatsoever.
Dolphins are too good for this world, I think, as I reluctantly, fearfully, kiss one on its domed rubbery mouth while someone snaps a picture.
Walking through the dense forestry of unrefrigerated 24- and 30-packs, Pete was in search of something that would stand out from the rest.
He looks at me a little like how the alley cats look at the mice behind the house, but I don’t mind.
I try to imagine the various people the specks of bubble gum had belonged to. Try to give them faces and purposes.
gen x girls grew too cool to touch and millennials gayed the world the rest of the way limp in their piteous attempts to save it.
The hangover was ruining the romance. Last night I woke up a friend and made her drink wine—Chateau 2016. I had to deal with my nerves somehow.
What’s your name? Like an oak
I want to carve a heart
into our washing machine.
as all my lovers
fly out of my chest
We started as open, NOT poly. This was a very important distinction to us, despite not having a working definition of either types of relationships. It was, we both agreed, substantially less cringe
Definitely one poet holdover is just being a magpie for weird
Mysterious beauty spot the farra on cheek.
