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All I know is not in front of me, my sweet angels.

My head was muffled in velvet, my body exposed in an old slip.

He got people on the conveyor belt that carried them up to heaven.

She had learned that it was easy to get Sylvi to do things.

A story about money, values, and materialism—in just six words.

As far as I was concerned you need never have been my father.

The child at the rummage sale— more souvenirs than memories.

Stripped we are — no mark of wealth or rank upon us. We wear our skins.

I am left with little Rome for error. I choose wrong, then I revise.

A wildness and all the ways I could never be classy enough for pearls.

It was as if the stranger in the train carriage had taken out a knife.

The boys came down out of the woods and crossed toward the dock.

An eye trained only for darkness makes for a lesser path, in art as in life.

Now the scalpel is slippery; how will I know where to make the cuts?

Richard Bausch

1908. The puppet’s name is Sambo. Oh what a friendly boy he looks to be!

Outside the kids play stretcher. One of them was dying between my hands.

Sing to your sisters in the water, let your arms and lashes flutter.

Had he been a man, we could’ve saved his life right then and there.

She alone knew how he could be swept up, tender interior laid bare.

I measured your breath with my breath, your foot with my thumb.

Last year alone, every American choked to death on a red balloon.

I feel delicious tody! I can claim the whole lawn with just one flamingo.

You have to be three times better than the white kids, at everything.

If he was cheating on her, he was cheating on her paintings as well.

The voyage of the best ship is a zigzag line of a hundred tacks.

It’s silly, I know, half-expecting to see Apollo playing lyre to a muse.

On the other side of Paris an exhibit depicts their home, which is nowhere.

Sex is the closest we can come to touching where touch resides.