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Jobs & Workexpand_moreThe voyage of the best ship is a zigzag line of a hundred tacks.
It never occurred to me that I was being sold too, standing inside my box. Basil was annoyed. All that training he’d given me going to waste on art? I’ve been selling cigarettes, I said, as if it were a credential.
It seemed that someone had died, but really it was part of us.
“Dorm whores” his roommate calls them. They come for the booze.
The shapes called them bastard loads. The lazy creations of fools.
He had dreamed of being a front-runner, someone who changed lives.
I read cookbooks the way I do poetry, with a willingness to be transported.
“Make it look like you’re working on a nearby shelf,” Aunt Mary whispered.
We have mysterious inclinations. No one can explain it to us.
He’d been lost and tripping vividly on some speckled acid for days.
He was living like a coyote, out on the margins. But then a letter came.
All my life, I’d been shy, and I wasn’t about to change that.
Out by the road was her son standing without a stitch of clothing.
She was the idiot who fell in love with some high-class gigolo.
He felt desperate for the rains, mosquitoes be damned.
Since the accident she lost her hold on the world and never got it back.
She imagines his clothes on the floor, his arms wrapped around her waist.
The grass is always greener in the cemetery, was a joke I made to Jed.
The clearest memory was when his father shot a grizzly.
Hearing the baby’s cry, Varka finds the enemy who is crushing her heart.
Teddy, the new sous chef, is on fire again. It’s the second time in a week. I make a silent promise to myself never to have sex on a beach, not even with Ryan Gosling.
He probably had an order. Ludes, Dexis, Black Birds—who knew.
If you’re going to take a degree, take one from the best school you can.
I could shoot you and nobody would say boo. I’m within my rights.
This has been a good day. First the milestone of getting to page 300.
The sight of her belly ring and the smooth, tight canopy of flesh.
Does he not see our likeness? Fursten seemed to see nothing.
Ahab went mad when he saw the sea is just the sea and nothing more.
Their days go over in idleness, and they sigh if the wind but lift a tress.
Poetry isn’t work, he said, unless you’re talking about reading it.
