Eunoia Review

the manager of the nearest gas station reads the new york times and sighs             the united states is under attack by an overactive imagination while Walt Whitman debates the merits of “the next big thing” developed in Cupertino, California             information filled with fodder colors traf

when undressed no matter how the feat is managed eyes                         fingers             imagination man   must side-step the crux of existence once life is acknowledged as sexually transmitted                         all   nuance is:                         lost This is a reprint of work o

Erik Satie’s music in the courtyard pears hanging off a window Shakespeare & Co the red pony in a fallen stack of books late afternoon Allée des Brouillards Montmartre on tiptoe end of the day our shadows swept by the … Continue reading →

I had a date last night, with a guy that kind of looked like you. He was taller though, and without thinning hair. I know it will hurt, but I’m telling you this because I want you to understand something … Continue reading →

Jeff Sanders lay in bed recalling scenes from the night before as if he were watching a blurry, fragmented film. No evidence of bad behavior, which didn’t mean there hadn’t been any. It only meant that he couldn’t remember any. Regardless, he … Continue reading →

I lie upon the grass, propped by my elbows The sun hugs halfway between above and horizon It provides a pleasant warmth, neither hot nor cold The drone of traffic continues beyond the tree line Yet I can only see … Continue reading →

They always conversed through instant messages, but Kyle believed this particular discussion warranted a telephone call. He typed the message, asking for Brennan’s number only to remember it was still written down on a slip of paper wedged beneath a … Continue reading →

Other guys drew cartoon characters with huge, floppy genitals or whatever model of car they wanted even more than the hottest cheerleader. The whole hour of detention, however, I drew Mrs. Simpson. The bitch of it was, I knew I’d … Continue reading →

It’s stupid to fall for gay guys. That’s what my sister Suzanne said while she scoured the stovetop. But Grover is different, I told her. He wasn’t like all the men who fucked me over, men like Ariel’s father, whatever … Continue reading →

Dear Oprah, If the women at the church knew I was writing you, I’m not sure I could ever go back. I’ve seen what they do. You walk in wearing the new dress you drove all the way to Dallas … Continue reading →