those old stories

chainsaws, cedar bark and woodchip on orthopedic chair rests. double dutch doors. summertime heat.  wandering empty streets on friday and saturday nights.  running through sherlock’s field; lost in a forest of cornstalks.  saved, somehow, by the canadian flag at the husky.  muscle cars running, racing to the edge of town, back again.  those old stories … Read more

too tight

there’s a door that opens with a whoosh and big cushy library chairs to sink your brain into.  a cadaver’s leg, puckered yellow, astringent.  i’m fascinated by his toenails.  a difficult woman is my guide, her breasts removed, one by one, until she’s standing beside an IV pole, demanding attention.  my slip is showing and … Read more

dear alice #3

dear alice, in a previous letter i’ve referred to you as a female jesus.  i want you to know that i can’t help it. it’s strange to me that i do this.  i mean, i’m not religious.  and yet jesus routinely shows up in my writing.  it’s a form of rebellion.  i was raised in … Read more