Today I'm in Gloucester, Massechusetts. Little white houses, crab-catching crates, manicured hedges, sailboats like tiny teeth poking out of the blue mouth of the bay. In true vacation form, we are only thinking about our next meal. Tonight it will be at The Market Restaurant, where we'll be laughing over lobster with our good friend Nico Monday. Stay tuned for tasting reports!
IT WAS SOMETHING TO DO.
He dialed a number, struck a note, drew a breath.
The breath looked like a smooth cartoon. The breath wiggled.
He’d had a dream once: people everywhere, hanging from the rafters, shaking their fists at a sky full of stars.
Screeching violins out of the mezzanine of a drooping tulip—
and fangled it there, shtupped the firmament.
The kids all asking their mothers if I was masturbating.
You’ll hurt your neck spending so much time looking up.