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“Wanna give it a go?” my brother asks, nudging me with his 12-gauge.

We fed our dreams inevitable sins, the kind you lie about till you grow mean.

How do we get there, to where we can answer what the jingle is asking.

I have been enshrouded for months by the weak winter sun.

His eyes always astonish her. Iridescent blue, flecked with black. Her husband was gone, two years later than she should’ve thrown him out.

The guy from the funeral home can’t get the gurney into the house.

This morning drifts of sand hissed along the shore like mist.

I am part dumb, and blind, and deaf, and untasting and unfeeling.

It was the truth of it all—hunger’s chill, the scream beneath the surface.

The Others came in the light of day and splayed Father open.

We are good at thinking we can stay. We are good at finding hurt.

There was nothing sadder than the look of defeat in a man’s eyes.

There is something on my mind rushing up as river in a locked car.

Cat food smells even unopened like vomit and I don’t trust cats.

Where will we go and how will we steer when the cars are gone?

You gave me blue and I gave you yellow. Together we are green.

What I became was not pretty. Like a needle on water-warped paper.

it’s hard not to be obsessed with your own shadow I don’t tell him

The next time we made love, I looked for the fox looking down at me.

I had forgotten how to breathe, and then I learned again, all at once.

I hightailed it out of the hospital like my ex-wife was a prison I’d escaped.

A whippoorwill called, a lonely voice among the cedars.

The lion was still near them, stalking. Crazed against its cautionary nature.

There isn’t a nice Jewish boy in sight—not that I’m looking for one.

I open the door and Eleanor is leaning against the wall, paper white.

I never actually existed. I didn’t know it at the time, but it’s clear as day.

Can there have been something in my letter, that unlucky letter?

“I don’t think I can do this,” she says, after a pause. “I don’t trust you.”

Lydda, when she closes her eyes, has traded one war zone for another.

We’re stuck floating around on the surface of our lives like kids in a pool.