Boots Oh, you've got sexy feet, good for you. Feet that should start a fire. Start a War. Start a riot. End a poet's life. With a beautiful little secret for any shoe To barely contain. Yet you shove them inside Boots, use…
There are no inspirations./
There are only the things I like/
and the much more numerous//
things I do not like.
Speaking was like lifting a giant rock; she parsed it out to a couple-few phrases, to avoid becoming overtired.
10. he is hot to warm in the neck. instant he goes into the fog. oars crack glass and reveal the wet. far he goes, not far enough. I row for hours. The landmarks on either side of the river obliterated by the steam.…
Fax me back to South Street listening to the dumpster / trumpeter, standing like licorice in the rain, / as the fetid officers assemble for the raid
even from the moon our planet’s truth has not been seen.
The woman lit a cigarette and sat on the edge of the bed, crossing one leg over the other. She took a long drag, tilted her head back, paused. Her eyes flicked to the NO…
"I remember thinking, 'Good.'
We are airplanes in a take-off queue, waiting for death, for a parent to die and for ourselves to move out onto the runway, reluctant, ready for departure.
She cut me adrift
On an iceberg of words
And words melt
As you know
Looks like we may have
Gone out on the limb
A little too far without
A toe-hold on Reality
But I saw the headlines:
Cows Bound for Slaughterhouse Make
“Mules don’t like to dive, Esther.”
“I said maybe, Hugh. Maybe.”
Most people who homeschool or unschool their kids are in one of two camps: hippies or religious zealots. Your mother swung between the two categories many times during your childhood. You remember her telling you things like “he won’t buy the cow if he g
He stops smiling and only
says he loves me when prompted,
as if asking me to pass the salt
for his inner peace as it tastes too bland.
the Blue Ridge Mountains were entangled in their usual mist, but the early morning sky looked good
Then one day, Grandmother warned our father, her son, just like that. "Steven," she said, though he hated it when she used his full name, "I think some sort of storm is coming."