Category Archives: Prose

Embers Flaring

Houses of a Crystal Muse, a poetic dialogue/collaboration between myself and Antoinette Nora Claypoole, will be released by Wild Embers Press next week. Also featuring images by Issa de Nicola and Anthony Distefano.  Wild Embers is offering free review copies. Here … Continue reading

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Author in New York

The complete collection of City Beat: Author in New York, a street photography series shot by Anthony Distefano can be viewed here. To see more of Anthony’s work, visit his Instagram page.

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City Beat

“For the perfect flaneur, it is an immense joy to set up house in the heart of the multitude, amid the ebb and flow. To be away from home, yet to feel oneself everywhere at home, to see the world, … Continue reading

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Brooklyn for Reel

Video recording of a reading from my novel, No Man’s Brooklyn, as part of “Italian Good Fellas Night” at SOMOS (Taos, NM). In this scene, father and son pay a visit to Atlantic City, where gambling, drinking and storytelling play out … Continue reading

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Warehouse

A deserted warehouse. This is where the Red Joans gather. It is the same deserted warehouse, again and again, an exact replica, that serves as the meeting-place for all the Red Joans. The warehouse is a desolate shrine to recursion, … Continue reading

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Roles of a Lifetime

Evie often had trouble determining where she ended, and someone else began. That someone else being a role she adopted for stage. It was a common problem, a customary side-effect to acting, she understood that, but what vexed her most … Continue reading

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The Beastie Boys Don’t Live Here Anymore

I tell myself stories in the dark, Anya. It helps. Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it makes things worse. Or keeps everything the same. Which is a different kind of worse. Anya I long to reach you only because I … Continue reading

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Osmosis

The coke parties were my favorite. It was when everyone was happiest. Everyone usually meant my mother, father, and their friends, Tony and Dina.    My mother would tell me—Tony and Dina are coming over tonight—and I knew that meant … Continue reading

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The Parlor

   The girl who was to give me the special massage was young. It was hard to say how young. She could have been twenty-five, could have been twelve. She also could have been one-hundred, or one-hundred and twenty, an … Continue reading

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Between Stations

   I was on the subway platform waiting for the train when I spotted a thin girl in torn jeans and bright green tank-top walking in my direction. Her hair was a bushel of unruliness. As the girl drew nearer … Continue reading

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