Sparrow
Sparrow lives in Phoenicia, New York, and enjoys reading Archie comics in the bathtub. His latest chapbook is Quelques Poèmes Français / Some French Poems.
The Heavenly Smile Studio
Eddie thought. “And does The Man With No Head ever go to the photographer?” “Yes.” “And when the photographer asks him to smile?” “He spreads his arms.”
December 1987My Life In Marketing Research
When I returned from Denver to Manhattan last fall I needed a job. My first idea was to be one of those guys who sit on boxes outside discount stores on Dyckman Street watching that no one steals plastic coat hangers — but all those positions were filled. My next plan was to be Santa Claus.
March 1987Proverbs
An orange can’t be too round. / At night milk is black. / The first wife remembers everything. / The tall perspire first.
September 1986Three Cities
A dozen men sit in comfortless plastic chairs staring at the floor. No one speaks. No one moves. Sunlight pours through yellow blinds into a room without time. It is clear that one is among the damned.
July 1986The Match
There was a woman with one desire: to win a tennis game with God. She invited God to play tennis. God agreed and they set a date: Saturday, March 3.
December 1985Letters From The Road
Greetings from the Laundry Basket, or more accurately THE LAUNDRY B SKET, a laundromat in Austin. The tall and weathered man next to me has been listening to Talk Radio: an anti-pornography Texan made the shrewd point that cigarettes can’t be advertised on TV. Then time ran out.
November 1985Meanwhile
At 10 a.m. Saturday, April 9, the Felt Forum was like an enormous party. Thousands of people were standing around talking. Me and Eddie passed a man doing a crossword puzzle. Waiting to see Krishnamurti, doing a crossword puzzle!
April 1985Selected Stories
There was a turtle named Arnold who went to college. He studied carrying heavy loads and going without water. He graduated with honors as a camel.
March 1985My Time
I can’t understand why things don’t suddenly turn into other things. Why doesn’t my knife turn into a candle, my toaster into a snake? Why don’t the lightbulbs turn into women?
December 1984Has something we published moved you? Fired you up? Did we miss the mark? We’d love to hear about it.
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