"That's not how you fold a fitted sheet," my naked 85-year-old grandmother said, tossing it back at me like a wet bluegill. I let it hit my bare chest and slide to the wooden floorboards between us.The smell of...

...silent sentinels on the dashboard of one's Kiaa silent, plastic affirmation on every speed bumpmolded to sin, an acquiescence lacking a spineholding steady in dull redundancy with a vacantgaze nodding, engaged in narcissistic intimacy...Talking to the monkey in one's...

Our flame light has faded to shadow… The last hiss of our candle has come… It's sooty wick now cold and black… That delicate glow once soothed us…   Long ago, our rose bloomed amongst ruins… Within the warm breath of the candle… Whose flickering flame...