I’m out of matches. the springs in my couch are broken. they stole my footlocker. they stole my oil painting of

the rag. she sat there, glooming. I couldn’t do anything with her. it was raining. she got up and left.

Slipping keenly into bright ashes, target of vanilla tears your sure body lit candles for men on dark nights, and now your night is darker

see this final storm as nothing ve… the world; there are so many more important t… consider. see this final storm as nothing ve…

I was in the 4th grade when I found out about it. I was probably one of the last to know, because I still didn’t talk to anybody. A boy walked up to “Your mother has a hole . . .”—he to...

you just don’t know how to do it, you know that, and you can’t do a lot of other useful things either. it’s the fault of the

the centerfielder turns rushes back reaches up his glove and

at the window I watch a man with a power mower the sounds of his doing race like flies and bees

That night I managed to get 2 or 3 drinks into Cecelia. She forgot herself and crossed her legs high and I saw some good heavy flank. Durable. A cow of a woman, cow’s breasts, cow’s eye...

Nothing matters but flopping on a mattress with cheap dreams and a beer as the leaves die and the horses d… and the landladies stare in the ha…

she’s from Texas and weighs 103 pounds and stands before the mirror combing oceans of reddish hair