1949 3 3
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A joust. A tournament. A playing field. ¶ Hmm . . .
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She’d picked him up at a party freshman year, calling him Danny. Until then he had always been Daniel. He’d said nothing and his name was changed.
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I’ve got a full day ahead of me; I have to write a brief in Lipshutz v. Fredbird, a property damage claim against the St. Louis Cardinals’ mascot for breaking a fan’s glasses as part of his routine.
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158732
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Rockin' Joe Heath stumbled into the stairwell in nothing but a black Zildjian t-shirt, shushing himself, trying to see right, pounding head. He recalled the old lily pattern of the wallpaper and something about the tattered edges…
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"As soon as you're born, they make you feel small."--John LennonI cannot do anything about how beautiful you are, my sour flower, but I can tell you this much: Joni Mitchell is better than all the cowards in the world. They all chose to somehow…
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All poets that end their poems with words like cancer should be hungSingers sweetly croonAbout the blood of the lambNail pierced handsThorny crownAnd 39 bloody stripes. …
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And, you peasy-headed shrew, don’t you dare think I didn’t notice that it was you who stuck that fork into my neck in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot late Tuesday night . . .
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... she’d stolen her boyfriend away from her, leaving her with a goldfish and a cat. Oh, and a pillow and some lights, she added. And I can’t really see you, because I’m blind.
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This was not a good sign, comforting gestures from strangers were bad omens.
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—So much for a cocktail at the tender hour of twilight, he told the empty beer bottle.
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81933
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I come here, to this very spot for a reason. Imagine — the illusion of knowing what is and is not. The contentment drops taste — one could suppose — like that.
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I didn’t know how to find the gold-capped ocean. How was I supposed to know where it was? I only knew you did not want or expect me to follow you there, where the orifice to everything withers, including my heart. Openings from the rivers drying in the
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She stared unbreakingly, confident, knowing; and talked so close to my face I felt cornered. But her voice was something, low and smooth.
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I wanted only to be still, to become a rustle for a moment of papery fall leaves sighing past one another on their way to the funeral pyre in the front lawn, sweetly fragrant with the scent of death and inevitable decline, fearless in their annihilation, incandescent…
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The waitress appears and Fred gives her a big smile and th3 once over. It's no wonder he's had so many women in his life while I've . . . uh . . . read a lot of books.
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"Not a fan?" Beth asks, feeling a sliver of happiness move through her. He furrows his brow. "Then what brings you here?"
"I'm here to pick up girls," Steve says simply. "Want to hit the buffet table? Want to run away to Mexico?"
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I've eaten all the sunflowers, spit the husks of their pupils onto the flood plain and cut away their stem-stalks. Now nobody can behold the sun. A feeble manx is trying to retrieve the cookies she dropped in the bubble bath tub. Snicker- doodles or…
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What we did was walk in on an amazing starfish convention, everyone lazing about, softly frozen against the timeless drooling currents like strange looking wind socks washing up and down with the sun. I am empty, hear me roar in blubbery bluster and…
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It's only been about three minutes. We're moving a bit faster now and many of those around me have already been taken out by the debris. One guy had his head smashed in by a rogue swing set that came out of nowhere. I envy his demise, at least a little…
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70633
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“What the hell was that?
Is that your take on
The Deer Hunter?”
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Let it rage.
I shall not suppress you.
Let your rage speak to you of the sorrow it hides,
until your sadness swallows you whole.
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a dim wood-paneled stair leading to the ladies’ rooms, candle-lit.
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It was one of those dinner parties where everyone had had a little too much to drink, and the conversation around the table had grown more . . . shall we say, spirited.
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Put blisters on your fingers and
Put plasters on your head but
Put peppers on your privates and
You’ll wish that you were dead!
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Rocky looked iron-built, tall and lean, not round like April. Russian lawn ornament, I said, mistaking the thought as mine.
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A married woman requests a butterfly tattoo that won't please her husband from an old tattoo artist.
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