by Russell Rowland Sketchy is the restroomin this ramshackle arcade—almosta closet, dark—still, she has to go.Granddaughter, eight, insistsGrampy accompany her. I do— softened at her own wayof being those years young, her faiththat an elder man, retired,unremarkable, divorced, can causethe world to seem a safer place. Once we’re both inside,…
By John Sweet and i was dreaming about your death and i knew it was a dream, knew you were alive, and i woke up crying, 85 degrees at two in the morning, empty house in a pointless town had given up on escape but could still appreciate the idea…
By John Sweet this quiet knowledge, this unspoken admission, this stupid goddamn truth that all of your great adventures are in the past that nothing can be touched without the ever-present threat of doing it harm not by you, of course, but by 100,000,000 others just like you, which is…
By John Sweet An ambulance in the sunlight. An arm, a leg, something missing from the picture, but the picture has no sound. The dog has been shot twice, but refuses to die. Cut its head off and it grows back,…