Fucked up

Exit Ninety-three

Blues

Sleeping on Otis’ Floor

“Goodnight, asshole,” John says. I see the meaty ghost of his shadow collapse below street-lit window blinds. I hear him thud. He groans like...

Exit Ninety-three

On a morning when the sky nearly brushes my hair, I cross the parking lot dodging a cyclist in a red T-shirt. He barely...

Doing the Work: An Interview with John Yamrus

“No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money,” said the prolific 18th Century writer Samuel Johnson, according to his contemporaneous biographer, James...

Blog Post One

A robot from East Lairdfield Nurseries telephones to wish me happy birthday. Of course, that indicates that...

Blog Post One

One fat, meaty growth fills the head with nowth.

Blog Post One

8-Ball's Son @17 Hey, are you awake, Dad? ASK AGAIN LATER Are you napping? AS I SEE...

Grab Bag

Dark wings

Trending

“Indeed, why didn’t we?”

On Sand

A Woman Walks