I wonder if the caveman held the orange in his hand and thought that stars might be the same stuff.

thumbs in our ears to the tune of the losing football game

No surprises here: The blue jay dies.

Mom and dad will say they raised us, but we did our growing up at 201 washington street.

Just proof that we were there.

What matters is that I can still feel it, twenty years later, true as a sore throat.

On ebbs and flows.

There’s Newark, New Jersey also to the left, stumpy and shabby, as my father drove north in 1992 to Jackson Browne on Light FM.

They want to know more about when I was young.

I reach for her hand and she withholds it.

Our pupils dilated, our chapped lips moistened, our chilled feet tingled.

The Minotaur misses his supper.

On AI.

My college girlfriend broke up with me using Fergie’s “Big Girls Don’t Cry."

This is what she’s been looking for, maybe, right under her nose the whole time.

the lookdowns and i have an understanding.

Have you ever felt like a dead man walking?

Some things just need to scream.

Are you still with me?

On schedules.