They move quickly out of Manhattan via the Holland Tunnel into the desolation of eastern New Jersey: abandoned factories, railroad tracks, dying towns—stop to rest where the light enters broken windows. They find Gealie’s still open for bad...

A grumbly stretch of river spanned by railroad, highway, and foot bridge. Cliffs swagger above the gorge, moss patches smutting the granite. A filmmaker plans a drama here. He has entitled it River Sad. I’m to star as the bad guy, an elderly...

I find myself ordering today’s feature: Peanut Butter Mocha, the Pina Colada of coffees. I place it on the table alongside my plain, black spiral and sharp number twos. It feels awkward, diamonds on cardboard. Hemingway would scoff, a steaming...

I embrace you – this argument of bent trees in darkening autumn light, shadows against your cathedral pillars, holy echoes sounding of your reveler’s Word as reverie. I want similar things to Dream – want what I kneel before to mean the...

No one’s watching you, and to faint stars, you’re just a blur amidst the orange glow of cement plant lights where mining never stops you from thinking big city, better life – any life, but this small town has been huddling around a bon fire...