[I wrote these for a series to appear in a poetry book to be published in the near future. Details on this book's availability will be revealed once I know what to tell you.]

1.  Crossing 50th and 3rd on October 15th 2006. Suddenly incandescently happy.

2. The rocks at the bottom of the pool sparkle gold at sunrise. The muscles of his back capture the groves of the sun. The temperature of the water doesn’t even matter.

3. My true love in unconsciously heartless. I cannot sit still- I cannot sleep. I move only in restless hate.

4. The pulsing power of costly, foreign horsepower roars beneath me. The man driving smiles and moves closer. I am unmoved.

5. This is the scene: Shelby’s diabetic attack. I am Shelby; the audience nonchalant while I shake uncontrollably and spill orange juice on the stage floor.

6. “I feel like this has happened before.” “It has,” he said. “And it will again.”

7. Honolulu is wet with rain. Three of us walk to the water and watch the moon rise and sailors flood the shore.

8. The stretch of salt flats on the way home is a foggy wasteland. I told him “I’m not tired at all.” I drive through the fog and he sleeps on my shoulder.

9. Dancing alone on a dusty green carpet to a tremulous violin. I am caught – I am high – the leap! The fall… searing pain through my ankle while the music soars on without me.

10. I have a window seat this time. Too much of my young life has been spent on planes. The chassis shakes as we leave the runway and I think, “Here we go again.”

11. At 2 a.m. I get off work. My black pencil skirt wrinkled; my heels flaming torture. The new bartender follows me home. He kisses me by surprise. I let him.

12. Oh! I is such a relief to cry. The wound in my heretofore guarded core rake me with guilt. I cry and cry as I never have before.

13. While walking home one night after school, I realized I don’t believe in god. The stars were bright and everything was clear.

14. We fuck as if we choreographed this before; all passion perfectly synchronized. But his mind remains a mystery to me.

15. My heart is racing; body starving; no desire for food – feeling pitifully beautiful. Now I understand.

16. Lingering around Greenwich village, I cling to the people migrating from lounge to lounge. All of us are homeless. Our facade: designer dresses and lips red with wine.

17. A hallway filled with lights. A small finger – mine – points overheard. The shoulders carrying me are strong. This is my first memory.

18. Cigarettes and coffee – the two of us laughing. “Before this,” he said, “When I was ten they brought you home from the hospital. I held you first.”

19. Sleeping still into the afternoon, I guiltily burrow deeper drifting in and out of dreams until the sun sets.

20. This death is different. This death unexpected; initiated by unfathomable pain. I hold his hand through the funeral, staring ahead. I only see fire.