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In every writer's room there is a bogeyman born in the closet, growing with every blot on the virgin sheet, feeding on the pain of writing, of solitude, the failure, the rage, the confusion, the helplessness, the fear, the humiliation. The narrower the…
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132276
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One/
can’t always trust the eye and ear//
in such matters but what can one do?/
Mistakes will be made.
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142273
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edge of wolf howls and howls past sunflowers and skeletons
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111374
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i just seem to be stuck is all
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168974
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164976
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I’m supposed to be writing poems but it’s Saturday morning and I’m watching cartoons.
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143977
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Harvey C. Hamby was drunk. Usually he held his liquor well, but tonight he was off his form. Stumbling over an ottoman, he landed on the floor in a sodden sprawl. As he fell, his left foot shot out behind him and socked Glenda Steinberg in…
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130076
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When the teacher was out of the room Myron pretended to play with himself, saying, “down boy” and smiling to the nervous gasping and fake coughs from the other classmates and, since he's my close friend, I think he does silly stuff like this to contend with…
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112577
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Looking back now, examining from a distance the sequence of events I failed to connect as anything beyond queer happenstance...
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153377
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"We're practicing," she signs, "for an earthquake."
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105876
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There was a big pile of dirt in back, where the little Hebrew School bochurs would play King of the Mountain—tugging, tearing, biting, punching, using whatever weapons they could get their tiny hands on to topple whoever scrambled up the mound first.
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140373
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Ginny, the mother, was a lark in every respect of the word. Born and raised in central California farm country, to a family of lower middle class means, educated in public schools in whose bathroom stalls she was deflowered as unceremoniously as a pig ta
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142474
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the stars might be the audience or they might not be
if the beat sits right next to me and hugs me nasty
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150876
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will we begin again?We are a wheelFirst touchfirst kissfirst heatThey fade, disappear, come back again.Spokes in our wheel.When again shall we begin again?I hold you and feel myself spincaught in the whirlwind of thrill -the world, saturated with your scent.We hold each…
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303474
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He imagined them raining down on her and then, like little radio towers, transmitting the sensation of her skin and warmth to him. He could feel her from the other side of the plastic. She could stay there, and he would feed her Chicken and Stars.
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220874
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This part of her digital garden is not impressive, slightly sloppy, even haphazard. However, her avatar is an attractive woman with good make-up.
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218478
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for a handful of weeks/ my father took me to/ the college of art and design/ downtown/ where i took drawing lessons./
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145775
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... the CBO issued a concise and brilliant report demonstrating that the most cost-effective and permanent solution to the multiple problems presented by persistent poverty in the United States was the elimination of all those with prorated household or i
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161676
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269973
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Conversation becomes Electra, as do her eyes. Electra’s head is grey, like the head of my Frau Freud, Martha. Her intelligent irises are darkly pigmented, and her sclerae are edged with a dramatic, black line of the sort that Cleopatra affected. In ou
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164874
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I married a penguin. Her waddle made for a scenic view.
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156175
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...the daffodils will fling/
their yellow petals, taunting winter
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181873
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We spend life, or much of it rather, chasing epiphanies promised to us by hip prophets and free spirits.
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145476
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Now, this boy removed his socks in front of me, on the chair beside my desk where I read my books, and said: “My toenails aren’t shaped properly.”
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31873
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There's a man in a Mackintosh reading Harper's Bazaar, I think many things are bizarre, I think the possibility of things not being bizarre is bizarre. Sometimes I'll have a great notion, doesn't everyone? I dreamt I fought in the civil war in the…
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220273
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My daddy made all these gold records on the walls, died, and left me to run BadSmack Media, even if I could only manage to run it aground.
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200274
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Why can't you mimic your mythical counterpart? Anna Karenina? Have you never considered the tall dark stranger? The boot to the face, the fangs on the neck? Vronsky is Russian Gentry, a veritable prince and he swept that Anna off her feet in two sec
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122277
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often visit me in my room, so quietly, so suddenly, buzzing my head with wonderful, possible sentences. Sometimes I find they've been there radiating all along, children ready to burst out in a sneaky fit of laughter if I move just slightly…
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132577
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These clouds are what I havewith me. Their language is minebut it is drying today aswe speak. I catch the darkeningsparks, but that's not to beyour concern. I am sure youshall go on. What I wantis to deliver your song. Idoubt it is for anybody else.Clouds are good at…
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143676
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Here the three o'clock sun is an old patched up fellow, with a stained yellow beard, walking in a small crispy rain of brown leaves, looking at something that requires a bit of squinting no one else can see, on the far side of the softening…
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