Author Archives: Jeff Stewart

  Looking back on Tempe when I met my first typewriter –sitting in that chair the machine upon the desk cigarette burning like youth the hot spring night begging for poems, for stories from that room –the bare mattress on … Continue reading →

    I was loud and she was naked across the bed and I looked down at her pussy and there was nothing else and she pulled me up to her face and smiled and it was the most incredible … Continue reading →

    I reach back and pull out a set of cassette tapes I found in a thrift store outside of Pittsburgh The Brothers Karamazov read by Debra Winger 1 dollar for the 8 tape saga and I listen to … Continue reading →

  The phone rang. “City Folks.” “It’s me. How’s work going?” “It’s just fine.” “Listen, I’m sorry about this morning.  I want to come in tonight and drink a little.” “We’ll be open.” “Alright. I love you.” “Alright.” I hung … Continue reading →

  We finished the joint and a bottle of red and went back inside.  Alexandra was near me at all times, and when she got too close her mother would shake a finger at her.  I didn’t know how the … Continue reading →

My turn.  Medical questions, blood pressure testing, twice.  The first test had me exploded to dead, but the second read perfectly.  After more sitting, watching the ones who had been there longer than me get jumpsuits, showers, and sent to … Continue reading →

Day 73. The sadness and death bleed from my pores in here. The tears of angels and prison tattoos, the bitter hatred laugh of devils and the hours that absorb me. All the love and air, the taste of wind … Continue reading →

  Sunday.  Sunlight, water, words.  Hot in the brain, hot down the arms.  The ocean, the cars, the beat of light upon decades.  A drive to the house of a great writer long gone, the face of the harbor splayed … Continue reading →