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The Stylist

For a month after 9/11 Bella wept through all her appointments.

The Stylist

Her bra is black, her breasts full and white. There is too much flesh.

The Tale of the Three Apples

The people flocked to witness the execution of Ja’afar and his kinsmen.

The Third Round

If you let me live, I will buy you beer whenever I see you in town.

The Thomas Cantor

He will be unable to resist his manias for symmetry and completion.

The Town That Believed Wolf

Surely a million mothers and school teachers can’t be entirely wrong.

The Tracks

No parent has yet been born who can save a child from childhood.

The Traveler’s Story of a Terribly Strange Bed

We were young and lived wild lives in the delightful city of our sojourn.

The Under-Assistant West Coast Promotion Man

These adventures taught me that writers are flawed human beings.

The Vaccination

The three of us share a myth, that I’m fragile as old bones. My parents speak in low voices—about me, I’m pretty sure. I watch the waitress, trying to remember how to flirt. I take off my mask.

The Victims

When I think on it, I can’t believe I’m going to kill two people over weed.

The Village

The golden-haired ones, they think they’re better than Virgin Mary.

The Visitor

“Hey, you look lost,” the hunter had said. “You better come with me.”

The Wild Boar

We’d hit something in the dark which—bang!—was there and gone.

The Woman Who Was Small, Not Because the World Expanded

This is the woman who had shrunk so small, nobody could find her.

The Wreck of the Deustchland

Sister Barbara folded her arms like a forbearing husband.

This Is Not a Christmas Story

There was a shout, then a shot fired. I pressed the shutter again and again.

This Kind of Girl

She looks down the street for Scott’s truck. He’s late but so is she.

Three Poems

David Lee

Three Poems

Three Poems

A sociopathic streak on my father’s side I try to put to good use.

Three Poems

Three Poems

I wanted my love to be everywhere, then love began to bite through me.

Three Poems

She commands, under her breath, You must be the son.

Three Stages of Amazement

Charlie wasn’t Lena’s first love, but he counted on being her last.

Three Stories

I tell my sister what I didn’t tell my father, I love you. Please, don’t die.

Tinfoil Butterfly

I found Lowell’s gun a long time ago. He’s not a genius at hiding things.

To Flee the Kingdom and Other Poems

Help me, please help me, is the beggar’s refrain on the F train today.

To Save a Butterfly

Yes, Eylon thought, he lied to Cath. Lied about his day, about the risks.

To the Dirt Which in Time Will Consume Us All

I love scientists. They’re trying their hardest. And they just want love.