: we entered the punchclock : saw stars : felled canopies : here we strung seasons : in jigsaw mileage : spelt out trollish : & vague : i am not the salt emissary : after all : likewise
Talking Text/ Texting Talk: An Introduction
TALKING TEXT/TEXTING TALK: AN INTRODUCTION Though talk and text are always already bound up with one another, talking is not writing and writing is not talking. The ways in which they entail, exceed, and exclude each other are both obvious
With a Kiss
There is a man singing outside my window. How I have always wanted a man to sing to me outside my window. But everyone is too sane to do such a thing. Something about his singing. What is it? Because
Historical Variables Tangential to Potential Complications
Explain Why You’re Here: The first time I chose failure over success, failure failed me. Describe the Nature of the Illness: Villagers carrying wild torches and obedient rope. Do You Have Any Questions Concerning the Proposed Supplemental Plan of Treatment?
Visting Hours
Lance Garland is a firefighter who lives on a sailboat in Seattle. A veteran of the US Navy during the “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” era, and a graduate from the U of WA’s BA in Creative Writing, his work has
Bailiwick / BAY-luh-wick/ , noun;
1. Those of us with the more salacious of imaginations or 24-hour-a-day concierge ego, 400-thread-count linen after the deer meat had been salted several daysit is safe to say a correspondent noted in July our image of sororities as was
Please Remember to Take Your Party Favours
no one is named guidewithout sufficient vision & to be admitted into thishouse means getting blind so that all the peoplewe know are here but we don’t see them who will steer themaround the planets wehave stolen in the kitchen
Thorax
Imagine you are the wildflower. The pocketwatch. The ground coral and lapis, the dung. A brassiere of shrews opens. She gathers verbena and straw. He breaks gin, breathes kind, lingers, fingers. She hangs
Burgess Meredith Just Wants to Read
In his book length essay The Lost Art of Reading, Los Angeles Times book critic David L. Ulin confronts a dilemma when his teenage son Noah, during an ordinary conversation over dinner, declares that literature is dead. For a man
Poem
i went to the cupboard and the cupboard was bare, nothing there. i ran from the rat race and the clock struck one. darth and ella vader like to go up and down up and down. they’re really going places,