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The Armadillo

The old man told us to spend more time in graveyards and I will not I will spend more time with the armadillo because he shows me there is such a thing as un-sad

Wish You Were Here

I feel like I want to apologize for the quality of these postcards. I wish they had been better ones, and that I could have sent you images of sunsets and palm trees and dazzling flamingos.


Disney stuck an explosive in the mascot’s mouth, lit it up, then pop, smiled at his blackface in the mirror

Mermaid Camp

I’m an eel until I inhale water—then I am messy, lightheaded—like after too much laughing or kissing.


This language tastes like songs of my sedo and before, days when land was soft beneath bare feet, before bombshells bore into ground, before bullet skins showered seeds in the dust.

The Bees

It was the first week into her second trimester, and here she was, smoking a cigarette and filling her stomach with bees.

How the Devil Finds Out

It happened on the corner of 147thand Miller, beneath the long branches of an oak hanging over the corner. It happened often enough— usually to white kids crossing U.S.1 in front of the University of Miami or other tourists on The Beach—but seldom in this residential area, and never on this intersection.

Amber Stream

He fished the Suwannee: slow- flowing, tea-stained, wild, where the river drops through limestone and revives itself.
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"I have touched, you know, fantastic Floridas
Mingling the eyes of panthers, human-skinned, with
And rainbows stretched like endless reins
To glaucous flocks beneath the seas."

–Arthur Rimbaud