“Sioux Passage” by Larry Mills is licensed under CC BY 2.0 Banana Kush on the Rocks, triple threat, a treble hook, dripping fentanyl, cast like a spell cast backwards, the Missouri River will dizzy you down, up, moves invisibly, buttery, the ghost of Ginger...
He worries about his mother reciting a list of salad leaves at her apartment door, about the silvering of the hairs at his temple and on his chin, and about the 12,000 green parakeets that shouldn’t be here. ‘What if they ate all the other birds?’ my partner asks me,...
Photo by lit3rd / Shutterstock.com If I were an alcoholic in Japan, I would be very good at hiding it. The way I would be very good at hiding everything: my panic attacks, my tattoos, my scars. No one would ever see me cry. Let’s get some vodka, I’d say to my Japanese...
Photo by Karin Hedetniemi The front door to my heart is a windswept coastline park, wild around the edges. A rocky shore strewn with slippery kelp, boulders, piles of driftwood. Framed by backward leaning trees. Gusts so fierce at times, you can barely stand upright....
We are in Needle Park and I am cold. I’m always cold, even in October. Maybe this has to do with the way the sun rises over my house, sort of in a sloppy diagonal. The cat and I sit in the backyard to thaw out in the early afternoon. Blonde cockroaches live in...
