“Neighbor Network” | 21 October 2019 | Queen Mob’s Tea House

Ninety-nine percent sure it’s a dog.

“Whatever Is Pure, Whatever Is Lovely, Preserve” | Anti-Heroin Chic Magazine | 3 November 2018

He shifts his head upright and says, “Take my hand.” It is cold, rubbery like the fingers have no bones.

What’s the song? I was out of my mind on a rack of pain and thought ‘is there a God?’

She fluttered out of the pages, “as a sudden wave dissolves the sand-built turrets of children,” she was sure.

He threw away his Purple Hearts. Those he let go.

“In the gentle breeze he thinks he can discern the light smell of the lilac taking over, for just an instant, the heavy smell of gas.”

Alone, Paul did not see Lilliane or David, Moore or diSuvero, ever again.