Explore
Animalsexpand_moreAnchored off Biscayne Bay my father’s wooden skiff swings easy.
Dad was blind until six months ago, when he bumped his head in the fire.
Gotta watch them damn sorry folks he sez they leave the best stuff.
I’d wager a cicada is fond of a high note on a synthesizer.
Isn’t Nightshade sad, people said; isn’t he pathetic; isn’t he hideous.
Just sugar cubes and a crop for you. Salt licks to smart the tongue.
Your jumps are numbered. It is better to be a bird without altitude.
Here is the fat guy whose Chihuahua gnawed through his stomach.
Miriam slept at the ranch often, although little sleep happened there.
Navigating the trailer park at night felt like a raid on a strange village.
Xin Bao had gotten drunk and stolen a hyacinth macaw.
Mostly, though, you could turn them in your hand, hold them to your nose.
Two animals, doe-eyed, slick across the road into the femur of the night.
Some asshole on a joyride in the outback runs her down, the emu.
What if it does choose, the egg, I mean, her favorite spermatozoon.
I sometimes have to laugh because even now, as a middle-aged man.
I light fires in the dark wake of space where you have tarried. Or died.
I eat what’s in front of me, as all great men do. Some wouldn’t, but I do.
The birds have all flown to Mars for water and Crisco and red.
The hymn that’s resurrected from the hymnal aspires to the spiritual.
I found it impossible not to imagine a radiant future for myself.
This is a crafty story and things are not what they seem to be.
Small valleys and veins give way to a lifted ridge like a rib or an arm bone.
Laurie Saurborn Young
You are with outsized footnotes that have tracked across the Internet.
I cradled the lifeless bird in my hand and marveled at its beauty.
Put out to pasture, flop down into clover, alternate to the glue factory.
Fly through 13 billion years of history in this graphic story.
The danger was my own carelessness, and now I was waist deep in it.
When we wake up, the five windows and the French door are full of light.
