Smart

She was also
extremely
bright,

the only one
in town who
could write

a poem.

— Alice Hoffman, "The Red Garden"

Songs

She had a five-inch stack
of quarters next to her
drink, which she used
to bribe the jukebox
into taking her hostage
over and over.

— Jay Cantor, "Krazy Kat"

Dreams

They would never
appear in other
people's dreams,

and that was all
anyone dreamed
of anymore.

— Jay Cantor, "Krazy Kat"

Puzzle

My shortest short story has been published online. It's less than 140 characters total, including punctuation and spaces -- "twitter-fiction."
Here at Nanoism.

Shelfless

SHELFLESS: It’s confirmed: America is losing its bookstores. ... Still, the sheer amount of product out there remains impressive.

Ambition

Esquire asks: Is this man the most important writer in America? And it's not Jonathan Franzen. (Click on the question for the answer.)

Ice

The icicle
became
a snowflake,
just as it
always did
with that
Mouse's
meanest
gestures.

She thought,
He loves me.
She tried
to say it.
She couldn't.
The snowflake
melted

and left
nothing
in her heart
but a puddle
of confusion.

— Jay Cantor, "Krazy Kat"

Sobs

The whole point of crying
was to quit before
your cornied it up.

The whole point of grief
itself was to cut it out
while it was still honest,
while it still meant something.

— Richard Yates, "Revolutionary Road"

Portrait

His face,
once as full
and richly hued
as a ripe apple,
had withered
to a collection
of lines and angles,
like a hastily drawn sketch.

— Justin Cronin, "The Passage"

Birds

Young men floated
up and down the streets
like pigeons,
roosting on this corner
or that and then
moving on,
all of it benumbed
with idleness
and vaguely ominous.

— Justin Cronin, "The Passage"