1836 4 4
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Blueberries are like testicles: you have to hold them gently, from underneath.
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I heard the basketball hitting the pavement in the park across the street, right outside our window... I heard it every day in an evenly spaced rhythm, as if it was keeping time, like a metronome on my life...
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He’d tossed and turned all night, pondering what to do, afraid she was living alone. He’d decided to email her two words: “Love you” and signed it “Scary Sal,” as she’d always seemed so afraid of him.
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He sits, a large man with a walrus mustache, pondering a gold telegraph key.
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Joyce Addleberg hated sleeping alone, so when her husband died in his sleep one night, it was only natural that she kept him around.
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The items were not selected. The people were not forced to choose, with tears and a suffocating feeling.
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Unconsciously she shook her head at her own weakness in coming out to see Wayne when things were in shambles at home. Guilt had beat resolve in the cosmic game of rock paper scissors.
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I stroll out to the front lawn, and find myself against the sea of grass, painted daubs within the frame of a distilled rock. My ears attuned to the starlets warbling on the twisted branches of the lone tree, flock of wings that find subtlety and shine in the rapture…
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On Soapography, two actresses are discussing
everyone’s personal heaven, and in another room
you can hear a woman who is your dead mother
combing her hair in a doctor’s smock in a dream,
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I arrived Sunday evening to a darkened house. Everything unplugged. Even the fuses from the breaker. Meticulous, this undoing. Silence has a sound. Cold has a voice, a pearly cigarette whisper. It says, “Metaphor?”
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laying with you, thinking with you, breathing with you
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The last time Cyrus rode in a train’s passenger car, he came home a dead man.
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"Shouldn’t I be able to easily get my arms around nothing?”
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a few numbers/
and a handful of their operations,
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Through the lonely night
All the roads are breathing
While somewhere on the road
The American soul lies bleeding
The past is all in yellow
The future’s all in blue
While living in the moment
Has lost its rosy hue
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The gated community of Dos was named for one of Babbage’s landmark educational figures, Ms. Dos.
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I would ask for your name/if your tongue wasn’t in my mouth.
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They keep
shining
against each
other
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There was a small slanted hole through the edge of the door, and another one in the door frame. She pushed the door closed to check. The holes matched up.
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Early on, I looked for work; I walked the want-ad trail. Shuttle-driver, apartment leasing expert, laundry technician, account executive, PHP developer, dog sitter, sleep study subject – I would do anything that seemed steady.
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“106 more miles,” she said.
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i saw a sign and it read A PERSON THAT IS MEAN TO THE WAITER IS A MEAN PERSON i thought of you with your high cheekbones, the sense of entitlement unparalleled, the superiority complex that hid much you had a gig and it had probably…
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“I'm in love,” Satan said to me cheerily. I could tell he was in a good mood. He was whistling as he came up my sidewalk. There was a spring in his step. He carried his mail tucked under his arm.“I'm in love,” he said …
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…Professor Wumbat begins.
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It was far away and I don't know how we arrived. There were people about that were involved in getting boats into the water or else playing sports games atop green hills. They told me I should go out in a boat with this guy and that he would take me around the island. I…
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[testing ... one, two, three ... testing ... is this thing on? ... ok, here goes:]
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Desert Storm, an Infrared Dream/Poem by the late David Avidan
On January 17, 1991 I woke up at 02:45 from a neo-surreal dream with a slight not very serious feeling of suffocation a pre-asthma attack instantly stifled with the inhalation of Ventolin an
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in the chicken house
this morning. The second
one this week. I carry the stiff hen
out to the back pasture
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yoo evva kizza rabid atween da erz? end chee siz NO end din yoo siz yoo wanna kizza rabid atween da erz? end chee siz OK end yoo pull yoo
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