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Joanie’s face was something she’d borrowed from Miró, from Picasso.

My friend Angela, who is also my roommate, got me into stripping.

What humanity needed was that gravity-defying miracle, the bird.

What’s a man supposed to do when his best friend is a falcon?

If mine, then, is a religious Offence, leave it to religious Punishments.

“As your brother, I ask you, how did you get that scar on your face?”

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

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

At a red light he touches his cheek. The stubbly skin is sensitive, febrile.

I found myself alone on the train in possession only of Knoll’s journal.

“I—I am Martin Eden,” Martin began. (“And I want my five dollars.")

Her sentiments maudlin, malaise dripped like a fever from her pores.

These adventures taught me that writers are flawed human beings.

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

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

She wonders if he will be all right. She assumes he has four-wheel drive.

You never see Westerners, so you don’t think of them as human beings.

He was ready to move on, to touch his patients, to cut them open.

His mother wasn’t there to meet him at his stop. She never was.

Our ambition was a clawing, grasping thing. It got us out of bed.

They are glorious pumpkin-skinned messengers. I hate them.

“We’re not like other species,” you say, a novelist at night.

In my head at least, you thrive, you die in this mix of ghost and gone.

Is anybody out there? Nobody answered, and I felt archaic as prayer.

If life was exchanged, who is to say it flowed one way?

A goddess was offended; her altar required my virgin blood.

Let’s walk down to the river, bless the paper boats and turn it all into wine.

David Lee

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