B-B-Birdman! Seven-foot bipedal hominid B-B-Bald, black-wingéd thing. Got claws and talons… Raise a ruckus on your rooftops, shake yer urban trees. I hith with a lisp and screech, Parrot beak down power poles Emit such a horrible reek your eyes...
Color. Light and color—these things, above all others, saturate my senses as I step into the radiance of two suns over the broad grandeur of the Avenue of Unity. No human hand raised these pillars, no human brain fathomed their symmetry nor imagined...
You’ve been here before. You know the facts and measurements, diameters, volumes, transference into examples, illustrations. You’ve seen the tapes, the fakes, you know all the debates. You’ve collected video documentation, journalistic speculation...
10 “If anyone asks,” Jason says, “tell them we’re fine.” But we’re not fine. The words never escape your lips. You swallow them and they sit heavy in your stomach like a wad of over-chewed gum. Instead, you nod. ...
“Sing to me,” she murmured in the ruins, ragged webs of silk clinging to her form, white hair drifting down over shadow-flesh, not daring to speak above a whisper, for her breathless voice brought death with its sound. “Sing to me, stranger, and...
I have the worst timing. Ever. What am I supposed to do? A romantic sunset followed by a candle-lit dinner? We have no candles, and no sun anymore. But I guess I should have tried to do it before she lost her other hand. It’s hard to be...
My brother faces my profile, scratches me in graphite, erases my only eye. Hmm, tries again. It’s fall. Maple leaves land. Warm and copper, they cover my feet. The sun is low but still whole, and the grass is damp with overripe pumpkin-juices...
If I painted us, we would be shades of brown. Not lemon-curd yellow fingerpainted by a child; not the rainbow of hundreds and thousands sprinkled on birthday cupcakes. Our undercoat would be the chestnut curls I tugged in first grade, then drew...
This gin tastes like leaves and pines that have soured over time. The ground crackles under feet, the carcasses of fallen weak twigs, discarded, break and crack. The winds pick up, pushing till goosebumps erupt but not yet, not yet, just get the...
Her photo albums. She’d wanted to burn the Polaroids anyway. They were just reminders of bad perms and teal taffeta and eyelids crusted with shimmery blue shadow. In the group shots, she was always too far to one side, partially clipped from the...
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