87340
|
The news just now that you are dead
|
118484
|
It’s just that—well, I don’t know how to put this—
With a Dadaist poet a non-affair is the height of erotic bliss.
|
162453
|
They met on a bus. The bus got lost. He had corn chips. She had a tuna sandwich. They shared. “This is good,” he said. “Did you make this?” …
|
74344
|
So the subtle shadow settles onto perfect marble
on the floor of the ocean
when the sunlight blooms over space and time
but only in the near future
as it has always been
|
148662
|
And now its done! Five months read! This book is batoning in my head. Its eleven o'clock AM and hot as hell, even the breeze, billowing nets through the sliding screen adds sweat, cuts me down to size. I will needs again to…
|
83331
|
Two logs to make a fire burn,
one real, one fake,
for we have learned
that's all an evening fire takes.
|
1249115
|
when thoughts of you
waffle in through memories scent
|
87621
|
When I was in high school, we had a prom. The juniors were paired with the seniors; and when I was a senior, I recall meeting my date for the first time. You can imagine she was not enthralled.
|
114465
|
There’s a hole in my sock, just large enough that my big toe keeps slipping out.
|
71611
|
The first day of the Steamfitters and Pipewranglers Local 175 strike was exhilarating. Every man (accurate; there were no women in the union) showed his support outside the Willgarden High Rise Corporation's company headquarters on Fifth Avenue, shaking unreadable signs…
|
91620
|
What I remember about my grandfather were his fart jokes. When he wasn't telling us kids about how young David defeated the mighty Goliath or how Saul the pharisee humbled himself to become Paul the Apostle, he was telling us about the baby burp that begg
|
13161
|
I wear my Whittier College mascot-logo-inscribed ballcap: FEAR THE POETS. On Lovers Point I write haiku. A man and woman picnic —— he never off his cell phone. I approach and hand her my poem. They depart without exchanging a word… or a look. man and…
|
1130147
|
|
73644
|
Wheels are spinning
On the country roads tonight
I’m driving all alone
No one else in sight
And the wind’s in my hair
And I don’t care
Yeah, the wind’s in my hair
And I don’t care
|
100533
|
Hollow as spit over rock
Was the mood in the library...
|
16862013
|
I heard today about your friend
|
6501513
|
|
105830
|
Naked American Apparel models romp with elk and antelope, and the Ghost of Richard Nixon directs traffic with the grace of a Wounded Hyena.
|
58100
|
And there was one girl from Ireland, with her thick Irish brogue, who came into my bedroom early on the morning before my final exam for my Masters degree in the writing program at Irvine. She knew I was so nervous about taking the exam that I hadn’t sl
|
1187168
|
|
176954
|
On the Rocks What matters these, to all, below the crest… If privilege of mind-blankness is the bay's? Remembrance breeds no fathoms of its rest- As plumb the circuit lulled, at each rephrase Of capture,…
|
111976
|
Marie was on the roof. The deck, with its cool concrete pavers and faded cedar Adirondack chairs, was one of the reasons she and Harold had bought their condo in this building. The only ugly part of the roof was the chain-link fence along its edge; soon after they moved…
|
97540
|
I await, here at Sandymount Strand / There's a stony bed and moistened sand / Couples dance away into futurity /
With their dogs upon the shore
|
129244
|
|
109821
|
The leaves were meaningless because they were no longer connected to the trees.
|
98322
|
Robbie’s wrists itched hard, the cord was sunk in so tight his hands were bordering now on blue, now purple. Too late to matter.
|
97000
|
these dead letters for you... and then they withdrew...
something happened on the way to shabriz...
my fingertips fell on their knees.
|
21124012
|
The memory of thinking
in some other language
|
64498
|
When they talk, they put their hands
like a cup around their mouth
|
151441
|
There’s an oak tree in Hanover, New Hampshire. Twenty years old, it is still a sapling. I imagine that one day the tree will have a commanding view of the Connecticut River and Norwich, Vermont, where my mom sat in bed, crying, watching everything unfol
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