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for Melissa and Ricardo of Melissa’s Piano Bar Santorini, Greece Are they crazy?” “Yes.” “I think my officers would like to shoot these crazy people.” “Of course. But their deaths would reflect badly upon me.” A white woman and two white male companions lay unmoving on the ground, on their bellies, their hands tied behind…
For the priests accused of fondling altar boys, Of using the orifice of communion and the other Unnaturally, for heresies preached Of whisper, nudge and dubious games, Hand burning a thigh in dubious Accident and secrecy, The way elation cauterizes fear, For the fevers of adrenalin wherein shame Forges one an angel naked and invisible,…
Like a dream, which when one becomes conscious of it becomes a confusion, so her name slipped between the vacancies. As little more than a child I hurried among a phalanx of rowdy boys across a dance floor— such a clattering of black shoes. Before us sat a row of girls in pastel dresses waiting….
is a shoe in the refrigerator, a mouse in the oven. Five years old, already a Y chromosome. No, that’s not fair, I don’t know that he’s a boy from the bare chest, short hair— s/he could be her mother’s experiment, like Hemingway. One doesn’t have to be a boy to shoot lions, shirtless, lean…
So few attended the reading Of my fabulous friend, They moved us from the room with tinted windows Overlooking the fern gardens and fountains And rocks of moss, to a small bar With black walls and red stools. Beyond the swinging doors Stuttered a mariachi trumpet, And the imitation coyote yowls Of hungry lovers. “The…
It’s not a fancy restaurant, nor is it a dump and it’s packed this Saturday night when suddenly a man leaps onto his tabletop, whips out his prick and begins sawing at it with a butter knife. I can’t stand it anymore! he shouts. The waiters grab him before he draws blood and hustle him…
It’s supposed to be spring but the sky might as well be a huge rock floating in the sky. I’m the guy who always forgets to turn his oven off pre-heat but I might as well be the one with the apple in front of his face or the one with Botticelli’s Flora hovering at…
Once mistaken for a man I began to dress like one. Tall, broad-shouldered, hair cropped close, I could wear seersuckers, double-breasted pinstripes, disguised, free to go anywhere I pleased. But I rarely spoke, and was the only woman my rich, old neighbor would eat with. After a day’s shopping for mission oak in SoHo, Brooklyn’s…
for John Casey It is only ever about power, see. Pick the crowd and pick your vantage point, then watch. Learn the con, you have to learn to look for what does not originate in ordinary. Hats will tow you in; and shoes. One good hour on watched shoes you learn the lessons of…
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