“I am a prayer of rain in the desert when the flowering ones need a drink.”

“I know what you’d say— / we’re part of this scenery, no matter how irrational / the weather is.”

“Everybody knew Gonzo, his cigarettes and cologne, his gold crucifix, / the white T-shirt he wore to every meeting.”

“They made a place they made of pain / exacting the center of the misty city.”

We picked this place to live in for one simple reason: it was dirt cheap.

I would go in terrified and feel calm again only once I was at least two blocks away.

His advice for getting back with a girl you couldn’t forget was to call her out of the blue.

They said we had too much white blood, we were not dark enough.

It was empty when I logged in. I’d been off it since Vic died, four years ago.

Of course, Arlette understood, this was not a tragedy. Tragedy would be a broken neck or spine. Paralysis for life. A coma.

It’s time to turn up the heat a little bit more. My boys are getting bored, and that’s not good for their appetite or their temper.

He got out of the car, closing his door quietly, and crept through the woods toward the brick house.