(Nonfiction) We don’t know names, on our street.
The glass is how/we can see
his desire heated to almost a reckoning, and I
I waited for a stimulus check that I doubted would come.
I’d sip on my coffee while showing off my fishnet thigh-highs.
OK is two empty letters, trapped in a meaningless alphabet, created by those who had vision, who thought we could do better than we were doing.
Reviewer Matt Meade writes, “These sixty or so mean little tales come across as dispatches from some strange world, as if Grimms’ fairy tales all took place in a moldy locker room.”
“I don’t see what you could do, unless you want to pay for a hotel room.”
Social distancing is a luxury only for the rich.
The beauty of code is instant gratification: I implement a feature, I test the feature, I see it work or fail.
Although Donald Trump is never mentioned in his new book, “King of Confidence,” Miles Harvey admits the current president “hangs over every sentence in the book.” An interview by Donald G. Evans
“I loved this book immensely,” writes reviewer Alina Stefanescu. “I have nothing to compare it to outside that love.”
I assume everyone is wondering when we’ll get to that third cup of wine.
Cash has grown more tattered than usual.
I saw you, Allen Ginsberg, gloveless.
We still can’t believe there’s nothing there at all but ugly. We feel woozy in his rank backwind.
The terrified revolutionaries binge on Netflix.
I say aloud, I want to love.
I get pulled over for speeding.
“John McNally’s new story collection has reenergized me as a reader and a
writer,” writes reviewer Glenn Deutsch, “and I fully expect it will exert those powers on you.”
Every day: a penguin story.
Before the virus, we would kiss in our kitchen after the kids left for school.
You were a good liar because you lied to yourself.
I answered phone calls from my mother every two hours, so she could “check your voice for corona.”
Cut right in the middle
Cholera was raging in the middle of August.
I wanted to be in the mountains when it happened.
America ignored dogs
splinters floods tears/the people who’ve had citizenship for/over a hundred years.
“‘Desire and Dust’ is an incredible collection of work,” writes reviewer Mike Corrao, “seamlessly blending distinct mediums into one cohesive tome.”
Every day they would wash all surfaces with carbolic soap.
A month will become a year.