Category Archives: Prose

Metamorphosis Variations

I. As I awoke one morning, from a blue-dark night of drinking and uneasy dreams, I found myself transformed into a cockroach. Figures it’d be a cockroach, skidded a deadpan between a head full of swollen thoughts.  With newfound prehistoric … Continue reading

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Ghosting

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale) I closed my notebook and sat motionless at my desk for a long while, feeling flat and infirm. Then, not able to put it off any longer, it was time to disengage my … Continue reading

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Scandinavia

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale)   I am standing over myself: a runt-skinny kid lying flat on his stomach, right elbow hunched, the stubby pencil in his left hand ferociously scribbling on a piece of unlined white paper.  … Continue reading

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Hot Pockets by Lamplight

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale) I climbed the stairs to the third floor, where Jimmy’s apartment was.  When I got to his door, I knocked, not expecting an answer, and not getting one.  I turned the knob, expecting … Continue reading

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The Phantom Itch

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale) There’s not really a name for what I do.  I am not an investigative journalist, I am not a private eye.  I am not a minstrel essayist.  There are many things that I … Continue reading

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Broken Land

The new edition of my first novel, Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, is now available for preorder (Unsolicited Press), in anticipation of its official relaunch. ABOUT: A spectral, existential noir set against the aging irons of Coney Island and old guard lions … Continue reading

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Claim

We slowdanced in a house of mirrors. Some of the mirrors had been burned in fires and showed black. Others were webbed in cracks. Still others bore dimensional distortions leading to instant surrealism. When I asked her which of her … Continue reading

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Can I Strip For You?

I want to exist for you, even if only as confusion and fiction, she said. Really, I said. No, un-really, she corrected, then caught my nose between her knuckles and gave it a playful toggle.    I didn’t know what … Continue reading

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Swallow

Today the glass is half empty full of singing void and fire me cutting my teeth on the rim tonguing rapaciously at spiked air clenching at the impossible slake if only I could swallow smooth as grace this bitter seethe … Continue reading

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I Listen

Dawn. The sea breeze, salt-fringed, rolls in through the opened glass doors, its damp fingers sifting and touching upon the cravings, rent and folds of our shared bare skin, It’s like home, you say, and this makes me dig my … Continue reading

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