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It doesn’t happen like the furnace kicking on when a house is still in glueset silence. It doesn’t happen like

Dear Mr. Laghi:

I have attached the first chapter of a novel that I think you might find of interest.

burn on it

burn it out so it won’t burn in you

then you will not be its ashes

The mannequins are meatpacked in their cage, all parts and arms, limbs and waists. She imagines herself deep in them, in or

In the water, as clear a crystal as the sky, a whelkshell pulsed alively where cold buried barefeet in granulous pebbles. S

It scathed a descent like a rasp, ozone shuddering its screeching passage. Earth quaked it like dread, and tensile waters f

stab it

and it bleeds on you

you sense it milking life

that ebb

that wa

a quadrogenarian crackhead

whoring shoeless

in her prom dress

in the rain

the corner of the back room was littered, with discarded screwed up balls of  paper. it must be this room. the would b

You sound like the west wind.

You sound like my childhood.

In the darkest part

They detached the smashfaced bug from the twisted meridian. Steel screamed steel as with towline forceps one birthed the ot

My name is Zola and this is my story, at least part of it at any rate.

I sat on the old pi