I, perched on a craggy promontory overlooking my childhood, and its entire formless geography, saw them, my friends, all of them: a mutant strain of cryogeny, a mummified quivering changelessness, as if youth hadn’t been lived through but pickled. It … Continue reading
(Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.) What are we gonna do with ourselves Daniel? Like right now? Like ever. Are you gonna go to college? I don’t know, but I don’t think so. Why you’re smart? … Continue reading
Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn, novel-in-progress. Me and Jake are Charlie are at the Body Rub joint. Jake is treating me to a massage. He offers to treat Charlie too, but Charlie declines. He says he’ll be happy … Continue reading
Remember when we were kids and we’d sometimes have sleepovers and listen to the dark together? That’s what you called it, Anya, listening to the dark. Sometimes we’d pretend to be camping. We’d make a tent on my bedroom … Continue reading
I tucked my hand into Anya’s armpit and guided her into the bathroom. I closed the door behind us. Anya immediately dropped to her knees and began puking into the toilet. A lot of it splashed onto the … Continue reading
Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn, novel-in-progress. 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 … Continue reading
Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn, novel-in-progress. Anya and I were seated on the rubber mat in the front hallway. We had been playing marbles. Or rather our own version of marbles, which we called Marble Mash. After having … Continue reading
There was that day you wore your hair in pigtails. You were thirteen. Pigtails and a pale blue summer dress. I think the dress was new. My mother had died three days earlier. You and I … Continue reading
Kindred spirit-play, by voice, a million worn pages– currency of love.
(Poem written in response to Joe Sorren’s “While the Trucks on the Highway All Howl”) While the trucks on the highway all howl, beneath a milk-bottle sky, Sunday’s children, curious and bulb-headed, lay vigorous claim to Paradise. Non-profit architects, they … Continue reading
