I find the court bundles, / find the judge who / smeared my face with war paint, / fingered my veins for Pakistani valves like / my blood could be distributing homemade bombs.

I am my father’s pusher. Just this once, tonight. Mash the button.

My mom acted like she was just one good fuck away from becoming a millionaire.

Six hours and counting. Six hours until she touched down in another world, another life.

a sophomore from art class. could he paint. i kept / his scraps of craft paper / and stray eyelashes in a jewelry box my grandma bought / in italy.

Mr. Dai called to inform his wife that he would be leaving directly from work to pick their daughter up from the airport this evening, so Mrs. Dai would have to buy the fish herself.

I am chocolate man looking at blue man flashing his lights as he stops milk chocolate woman and light cafecito man.

Prismacolor colored pencils, Strathmoore Bristol paper, Uni Posca white paint marker

As my leg was pulled in, I felt the most excruciating pain come over my entire body, from head to toe, traveling through every organ in my body.

It hadn’t occurred to Michael that his head might get stuck.

Arriving home in his private plane from an L.A. movie set, Rick can almost fool himself into thinking that he is famous.

I am gripping my chest as my colleague attempts to reassure me. “The paramedics will be here soon,” she says.

I remember a time when all I wanted to be was Trash.

I drove with no GPS. After what happened, getting lost seemed like a good idea.

In the Soviet Russia of the 1980s, my mom chose not to tell me we were Jewish.