the letter itself might contain some clue, some hint as to why it had been delivered here, to me, on this day: wednesday, my least favorite of days.

are you elle?
yes, i lied. yes, i am.

heaven exists in nildimensional space, without depth or breadth or width

weird, she mused, that chicken soup should be so red

i wash dirty bowls / early when i first awake

joshua asked his rōshi, ‘can i eat with one hand and pray with the other?’

i can think of nothing else but bread-basket

we pretended as though everything were proceeding to plan, because in a way, it was

i haven’t a name, they said. i am a cambion creature, conceived by my mother and an incubus demon.

i'm a bottom dweller by nature, she thinks. i scuttle sideways

girlfriends swore it was blue. but i saw it differently. to me, it was more ultramarine. sapphire, even.

susanna anna sang the sky blue one day. wasn't even tryin.

feel bad for that boy of his.

hurtling one hundred and eighty miles an hour to his death, charlie knipper at last felt free. 

i have never been anything other than a head in the sand, bobbing about like sea cabbage.