1464 15 13
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Poets who thrum jirble and thwack
Poets who thrum eat quorn with raw swamms
Poets who thrum are eristic (not shambolic)
Poets who thrum deliciate unto kench when they freck
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33074
|
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122365
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Say the world is a smudged charcoal drawing. Slit from its frame, smuggled out of the Vatican. Don't say it couldn't happen. Who would know.
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17563
|
Which way are the Pointer Sisters pointing
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77011
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She burns
her wrists with menthols; she says
it's too much effort to cut
them. Besides, it's
more fun.
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123911
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Directions: Match the stanza to the Beat icon:
A. William S. Burroughs
B. Peter Orlovsky
C. Jack Kerouac
D. Carl Solomon
E. Allen Ginsberg
F. Neal Cassidy
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11577
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The High Priest Psychiatrist at Orwellian Industries Medical Center where I used to work loved to hear himself say the following, to my horror, at every staff meeting: "We psychiatrists prescribe the poisons to the patients and the…
|
1267107
|
Things get lost in Big John, too. I see the other guys throw jokes about his size at his body that wedge their way into his armpits or into the wrinkles of his laugh lines and disappear. I’m not sure if it all disappears to remind us how small we are,
|
114355
|
On the coldest day of the year, the weather man walks back from the measurement booth across a snowed-over plain, solid as cement and tinted with the pale yellow glow of the northern lights.
|
124396
|
Can I still be in your pictures?
|
122893
|
We hit the road, headed west.
|
108830
|
Chapter one I was sitting in the doctor's office. For weeks, my nerves had been on edge, and I had been feeling like he was going to have a nervous breakdown. I needed the help of a professional. It was hard for me to admit this. I was taught that a man handled…
|
118796
|
He has no plan, he needs a plan, he has no plan, he needs a plan -- the two thoughts bounce around inside his skull like racquet balls.
|
1620196
|
He was entirely guilty of what he had done and wanted that to be acknowledged and understood by the arresting officer.
|
11361010
|
As if to ask if I'm okay, as if to ask aren't we the same two on this wet December morning as ever, as yesterday, a month ago even, she shoots me a look as I stand by the bed, then her sane mild brown eyes…
|
71173
|
Were the coffee and gas not cheap,/
and in the case of the coffee, good,/
I’d never stop again.
|
884115
|
In which era was it not a scary world?/
Last century, the perils were both red and yellow/
after Jerry was undone. Now, they’re brown/
and cross, without respect, the Rio Grande
|
88884
|
These days, you seem to disappear like bread tasted and devoured
|
117962
|
The question posed a voluptuous riddle. Were these frenzied silhouettes
gestures of Jackson Pollock’s dribble?
|
199686
|
I taught Polly to turn on a flashlight with his nose. It became his favorite occupation and he'd sit for hours with the light between his paws, watching the things it lit—sometimes jumping up to lick the wall. He'd shine it on our daughter's…
|
99600
|
“You look strangely familiar,” he said, taking a drink and swinging his leg over the horse, landing on the ground beside me ...
|
1489199
|
They line the bar beside me.
Talking about themselves and estranged children,
while rubbing necks and wrists,
searching for the pulse.
|
89886
|
That is a six-word story. Notice that the meaning does not change with the word count. Syllabic count: pentameter (ten). Keep these commas.
|
86890
|
|
97631
|
“The moon is a monk,”
you said.
|
104234
|
“That pool will be the death of me.”Which Dad said at least a couple of times a week. Ten times the week after he'd read the TXU bill.“Goddamn pump, and that twitchy little Polaris. We should fill that pool with dirt and plant some trees and Asian…
|
16571613
|
Confused, I paused and locked eyes with the girl who’d just bounced it with the long, dark hair. “I just saw you with it.”
She stared back at me. “Do you see it in my hands now?”
|
132863
|
That’s what she left behind, and I put it in my mouth and swallowed.
|
113773
|
Who ever saw an open upright pop bottle on the street?
|
64374
|
every color of sound turned to green /
human beasts’ treadmill tastes must be trained: / we may yet starve to death, but we’ll die de-brained!
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