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The stand is designed to clasp two guitars, one on either side. She cradles an Ovation in her arms, a guitar variety our high school friends used to call a soup bowl. In the stand is an acoustic-electric hybrid that I toyed with for ten…
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The oranges are dreaming that they have turned to apples.
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The television volume softens in the shadows.
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The instant you remember
gratitude
with enough focus to spring free its power...
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The falling may continue//
forever.
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Sometimes, you compare your living situation to a prison because it makes you feel better. "At least I have a fridge," you think to yourself.
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The truth about the bird and the snake is this. They are dead. And me? I cannot stop thinking about them.
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For two days, I bashed out words with grimacing fingers, wrenching images from my whining consciousness – a weak, lumbering, uninspired piece – and now for what?
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I see them walking. They pass right by my house. If I’m outside, I sit down on our porch and watch the parade. Sometimes I watch them out of a front window.
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Matilda went wild at sixty-five. Legs left unshaven for the first time in fifty years, hair still and proud, knotted with forgetting. She’d roam the streets at night, a traveler without design. Matilda was a gardener of sorts, digging up all previous assu
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All of those lovelies, pitched on the ground, ignored and ready to rot.
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I am the marigold wheel no one can understand, the menace your grandfather warned you about. Yes, yes, that last phrase was overkill...
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I can no longer conjure the sweetness of a plum
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We laugh at them, parading two-by-two, the elephants rolling tail to trunk across the makeshift gangplank, wide slats flexing under their sway. A pair of snakes contemplates gulping a pair of frogs and their clandestine movements stun a cricket and his mate. Birds squat…
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“You have no idea what your lives will be like if you can get out of the ‘hood. You could be driving Volvos, eating Tuscan cuisine, getting MacArthur ‘genius’ grants!”
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Earlier that morning a tree in the yard had filled with starlings, and on the way home after lunch, the sky held planes that looked like starlings, floating together.
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Oh, what jealousy does to us! What love does to the living!
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If they are all speaking medicine & I / start speaking French - how / rude am I? Would they understand then / what it is to be entirely left out / of the conversation, unseen?
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1.It was unfair to my time and my small kitchen rug that it took me two days to finish reading Meg Pokrass' “The Big Dipper,” pp. 10-12
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I don't think you understand. A sad boy doesn't just die inside, slowly he becomes withdrawn from certain types of lovely youthful reasoning out loud, accustomed to feeling what is expected of him, just to be allowed to survive another…
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No American ghosts are friendly. I hate to be the one to break the news to you, amigo. American ghosts speak in blood and smoke signals and guttural cries. American ghosts MEOW.
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It's the outrage of the red monkey at her feet,
And the nude thirteen-year-old woman sitting upright
In the blue velvet chair, and the hints of blue at her navel,
And at her lips and belly and crotch, that so upset Paris.
Gauguin had his nerve
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You snore and the house is safe again.
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Public Wi-Fi ”hotspots” allow men and women to ogle each other discreetly while pretending to write the Great American Novel.
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Regret takes the shape of little clouds ...
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As ghosts, they became lovers. Rodion would strum the Underwood keys like a balalaika. Lizaveta would sing.
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