There’s a boardwalk to the water through the swamp and the swamp is full of white birds on skinny orange legs and there are plastic bags everywhere and Dew bottles and it smells like we’re in a Roman candle fizzing out—that smell, what do you call that?
Hours spent nude on plinths in those drafty rooms, and only one painting had ever done him justice.
On bad days, I fantasized about taking a sledgehammer to the train. I knew where the security cameras were (and weren’t).
Pink light oozes in; just like that, it’s day, and I sigh because nothing bad can happen during the day. It’s a rule, and we don’t break rules.
Sunlight glimmered off the van’s undercarriage, rays of white and blue and golden light mingling in beams and flares captured by the helicopter’s dazed camera. The police took potshots at the minivan as it soared past them.
Well first they sent chimps into space. Then men. And now they say humans will not walk on mars. I’ve heard they’re saving that for robots.
We signed a 72 and ¾ month lease for our studio. The market is tough in San Diego.
Sherlock Holmes Sherlock Holmes Sherlock Holmes Sherlock Holmes Sherlock Holmes Sherlock Holmes.
Like some unmarried and childless women, she is aloof, arrogant, and easily annoyed. But this takes nothing away from her great charitable contributions.
I stand naked at my bedroom window as the community arrives, unhitching buggies next to the barn and freeing their horses within the pasture fencing. It’s Father’s turn to host church. My hands find the tumbled smooth surface of the yellow citrine, amplifying the power of the sun, torrential and vitalizing. My altar, the top of the maple dresser Father built, is aligned with crystals. Each one unique, delivering its effects to the possessor. The dresser stores my bonnets and dresses, different hues of pink and gray. Sundays are always black. None with pockets; Amish don’t believe in secrets. The Radiant Rider-Waite…