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On the way to the house, we stopped at Ma’s. She sat in her rocker in the living room, reading magazines about Lucille Ball that she’d shoplifted from Meijer’s. We told her we were going to Aunt D’s, but Ma shook her head. Her sister was plain nuts, she said. Best to leave her be. How could we tell her that we loved Aunt D more? We kissed her forehead and agreed that Desi had been no good for Lucy, but hadn’t they made a sexy couple, and we were off, backing out the driveway in our Pinto, waving at the empty windows as if she had, for once, got out of her rocker and come to them to say goodbye.

He ate mozzarella cheese on wafers. In his white pajamas. On a cloud. Was he dead? Yes, he was dead.

Selling stories of secretive nature, she succumbed to the salaciousness of their sensuality.

After dragons gorge on our guts, our armored legs strewn around like chicken bones, there comes the ensuing torchwork–a dozen rallied dragons making elaborate burnt labyrinths of our castle, our homes, our farms. My sword far behind me, along with my arm, I marvel into bloodied mud that no one has managed to decipher the pattern. Til now. It makes so much sense to my drooping eyes… Of course, a story, a moral… The ending right before us…

The chewing of bones in a hidden pit: checkmate, my father would say. The last move had been mine, a cautious dash through blackened forests not ancient, just forgotten. Behind me, a border world of fallen logs, burned past decay.

I hoisted my quiver, last arrow ready, and crept to the pit’s edge.

whole cities understand you

He drew her breath into himself, growing more attracted with every molecule of her.