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Night LifeThen things started getting weird. I could give you a time frame but it was back when times didn't matter really, one hour as good as the next and the minutes used to be minutes not the digital counting that makes this crazy world now spin. Here was…
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If she weaves words that are true enough
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At the Bizarre Bazaar in the village of There You Are we waited on the platform when the Midnight Special steamed into the station pulling a plain brown wrapper disguised as an invisible train
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i waited for the moon last night for hoursfell asleep with the record player on and dreamedof rain running downgutters of sea glass housesthe sun nudged me awakeand she served me toasthe's not serious,she saidhe's half baked,full of…
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There’s not enough cigarette cloud to conceal her, malnourished and pale beneath blue and pink lights that summon 80s-era skate rinks. She saunters towards the center of the stage, asking her bored expression to convey detachment, while a DJ that fits the
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I’d look for a fork and quickly stab a piece of it and bite into it, feeling good about the finality of things.
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Let us both stand steep, alone, this night; the tide Lies, hastening to us: and, far away, I hear the sea gulls sweep, through the divide That shapes drear skies, between dead lights of day. What worth was love? Man severs all he is, To make one…
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That sort of says it all, doesn’t it?
The skirmish for truth must be fought early in the morning.
Lies happen later in the day.
Big lies occur in the night.
And this belongs directly on the surface of time as well:
Alleged shoplifter arrested
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I am my beloved’s Advil and
she is my Aleve
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Granddad listened to Elvis and then he would talk more or less the entire night. “Mystery Train” was Sam Phillips' song. Then Presley recorded it, but did it up different, sounded much faster so you could feel your hair blow back a bit. …
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My mother's afraid the dog will drown. It's raining and our street is flooding and the dog is standing on top of his doghouse. My mother is pregnant. I can stand beneath her stomach and not even see her face. I watch her from the kitchen window. She's shoeless. She holds…
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That streetcar named Desire, it don't hardly stop for me no more. Leastwise not while I'm awake, and I don't have to be telling no nosy aides why I make them noises in my sleep.
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In the shower she sees that her nipples are large and brown, feels the weight of her breasts in the hot water, and suddenly her hand is between her legs, seeking the pleasure that's always been denied her, always
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no matter where we sit or how we stare— / all parades now march away to one day.
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"I’ve always wanted to write a novel. Like Catch-22, something off-beat that would start by word-of-mouth, you know, and become an underground classic."
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Who better to know the wiles of the fox than the vixen herself?
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(2:56 a.m.): "Hi it's Charlie it's Pat at 4:00 in the morning my time. I just wanna tell you that I wouldn't mind getting him in bed with you the rest of my life."
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The cat's on the floor fussing with the plastic bag from the liquor store. There are tiny scratches and bites on my hand. The TV is fully concerned with liquor-induced violence. "These people are thirsty." I'm the same, but my needs are met. Prohibition's over. …
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French pee runs stronger, less minty. In France the world' a pissoir.
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When he left home to be a stand-up comic, he broke his parents' hearts.
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Cicadas shed their skin as they grow, leaving crisp hollowed out remains on tree trunks, fence posts, and the undersides of upturned leaves. Tommy and I would collect them in the early morning and stick them to our clothes like brooches. I used to like Tommy,…
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I thought I heard
Follow your heart
On the cold, cold
Night of the soul
I thought I heard
Follow your heart, follow your heart
On this coldest night
Of the soul
Leaves on fire, leaves on fire
They told me look
Into the flames
To
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“It’s a sad thing,” I said, “when a man has to suffer just for getting a little on the side.”
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"Penning a slight of tongue well versed
or worse, a salacious lie..."
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Lila began to hear whispers coming from her home's air vents and quickly assumed people were watching her. Maybe that was why the yard was not progressing she thought. The unknowns talking to her through the vents had control over everything she did.
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He plucks the feathers and winds thread to simulate an insect’s torso.
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She said he was missing the whole point: it was a decoration, not an actual pillow. You were supposed to place it somewhere artful.
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