1051 4 3
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I fear osiris with his feather rising to meet the raven in mid-air they will turn to look at me decide if I go through the door of no return into fierce landscape on my knees I will crumple into the foetal…
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96943
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the sand is hot to walk upon so you must run if caught there w/out footwear. it is like a painter has colored the sea and made parts of it dark blue yet other areas green. little birds jump around the fine grain world and that is when you wonder where they came…
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103842
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The first and easiest reason was that he never hit me. Well, if he never hit me, then how could it possibly be abuse? Never mind the threats to stab me in the neck. He was only angry. He really didn't mean that. Never mind he restrained me, or cornered me
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273244
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Dear Andreas,My mom is asking me to come home.They found you amongst the ferries, down the street from the pile of unearthed bedrock I lived on as a child. It took two months before you showed up again. You left everyone scared, running to the bridges, but there was no one.…
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The gaudy belt buckle I got you, which would have been well-received except that you hate gaudy belt buckles.The custom t-shirt I made for you using iron-on felt letters that generously enhanced the shape of your breasts in a way unfit for public display.The wedding…
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126744
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Some poems slip out easily
Thick and solid
Well-oiled and fully formed
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108244
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the carnival ride hurtles the spinning man over canyons of light and barkers & streams of cotton candy girls
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The boy wasn’t raised this way.
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184144
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["This is not a snippet of text. This is only a test."]
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117844
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It was like watching one of those vintage eighteen-frames-per-second films of someone trying to open a stuck umbrella.
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100942
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A senior living facility called “Symphony Square ” recently opened up in my neighborhood. It doesn't have a symphony. Nor is it square. So what's with the name? I'm guessing that a consultant was paid big bucks to come up with that enticing moniker.…
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88042
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so out to the night, and turning out the stars, so nothing can last, and nothing is taken in
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This is your mystery, your story Full of beauty and all-encompassing loveA brushstroke washes the canvas cleanYou start over with a new directionDreaming of me as you paint your wordsWriting just like Keats, Shelley and BrontëAbout sorrow, rain and the wheels of passion
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117140
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The way each intersection in a city where you’ve lived a while becomes layered with personal archeology.
The cafe that replaced a liquor store you avoided, and the friend (or lover) you broke up with there,
and the way on the day of the big fire you
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179642
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This is my motorcycle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My motorcycle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my motorcycle
is useless. Without my motorcycle, I am useless.
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108845
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After my mother died, my father shipped me to my uncle's. He hadn't told me she was dying, so he could just mourn alone.Lena lived next door, Italian, my age -- which was ten -- beautiful. She was watched by goons in black suits. Her parents owned a restaurant. Across the…
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104743
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I was walking my Belgian Waffle-Hound
Past the Belgian waffle shop
I found a penny on the ground
And did a tiny little hop
I spun around and went inside
The Belgian waffle shop
And bought a little waffle
For my Belgian Waffle-Hound
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91344
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It was that special ache between heart and stomach that made me stop things. That ache that cannot be caused by the mere knowledge that you have steered your life into a completely wrong direction. To feel this pain, you also need to have no clue why and how it…
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65243
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You tell its approach soon as veal resists both knife and fork, quick neutrinos land in internet ruby climes.
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I lock the last of the beer and wine doors and head back to the cash register. Our clocks are not on bar time so I only have a few minutes. I check the till. A stack of ones and three fives. Enough to break a twenty, but looking bare. The parking lot's empty. The air…
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Her back turned, she wanders off
searching for the way home
wringing her hands,
trying to think, but thoughts
evade her.
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I started walking around the Jube like any other sheep, lemming, or penguin: passing plate glass windows, one after another.
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in making your sad blown apart hearts rise up and squeeze out the kindness juices ever so sweetly anymore. Tried that. Didn't work out too well, not for me, wasn't a BIG time of waste, but did eat up some important wee…
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"The problem is, sometimes my pigeon wants to fly somewhere new- to the beach or south for winter. Other times, my pigeon wants to steal someone else’s lunch or picnic with a stranger’s leftovers. Often, my pigeon wants a good show and some freedom, to be
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Don’t break things, I add. And he looks at me like I’ve broken everything else.
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ride crests and troughs of ceaseless change, / without delight but without fear, / and once it’s time to leave, then simply go, /
without regret, with no unseemly fuss.
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"Dennis," she started "exactly what the fuck are you looking at?"
"Your tits" I replied.
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She is left feeling like she has missed a stop, that she's at the last stop, that she's somewhere she wasn't meant to be.
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