The house’s cracked smile
hides behind spines of oak trees.

My girl smells like maple syrup and hay.

Fiction or nonfiction
Autofiction :)

Her drink and legs they're everywhere. 

i tell them of the violences endured / & how i began working here at 17. / five days later: no longer able to speak, / nor walk, frozen in stillness.

burrowed in my
fear like I was making a home of it.

Record-breaking heat today and tomorrow and tomorrow.

Open Windows
A Contrapuntal

The heat                                                                 here in Texas
is such to close                                     the heart and the rain; let

She was meditating with me / And eventually she was gone licked up by the surf / On a personal level, expressed in a fiction / That was the breadth of my loving and no thing more 

An interlocutor here, is always the audience.

The depression soon followed like a familiar friend who I had hoped to leave behind.

Writer you’d like to meet irl

I've met enough

These untamed wild horses galloping inside these Trojan hearts / Like that beach that one summer / This one summer, it is all we get  
/ Slipping through our fingers like the sands of Ios where Homer lay in dust 

Video after video, she became a fan in front of the camera, leaving her future self a playlist of nostalgia.

Could it really be true that Betsey actually let him put his fingers inside her? In both holes, as they reported? How could he do that to Betsey with the Guess jeans, glossy hair, and big boobs?

I loved you better as a vague notion. Better / as an uncountable thing. Better /
as an assembly of dog treats.

I grass-skied down the camp hill in my non-specialist shoes, drifted into the icy endzone with the kids,

When a bikini-clad granny cracks aces / At Virtual Poker  / The Avatar Dealer, / A flickering PAWG, / Winces or winks  

Our social circles had overlapped for more than a decade. To everyone here, I was first an old acquaintance, a fixed figure of their long past. Not the person I was today.

I showed up at a bar that served free meatballs in a red slip I bought at my local Chinese dollar store, hoping to get high on a charmed stranger. 

I'll say the metformin must be working. You'll tell me to message my doctor, ask about upping the dose.

I feel a change coming on. I want to travel more. I want to visit Vietnam, and Transylvania; I want to watch the sun go down along the Nile.

Murray would be my only American-born super.  He was big and fat and had a very productive-sounding cough and he always dressed in the same dirty white T-shirt and the same baggy corduroy pants whenever I saw him—summer, winter, spring and fall. 

Meaghan Garvey knows well the hypnotic power the road holds for introspection as well as the inherent humanity one can find among the regulars at those solitary dive bars.

ration the rest of the smoke, / spend hours tracing maps / to find the pub marquee 

You are new ink that will not dry.