460 3 3
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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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I unwrap my #4, the greasy smell wafting over my nostrils, and I pause, with the understanding that this will be the highlight of my day, and that I should savor the moment, and then I bite in.
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I used to be a poet, you know. /
Better, in many respects, than you.
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The shadows hang fast on the downs this day: And I hang like the darkness, over heath and down; Since the air there is clearer than the clouds, men say, And I'm lost in the country, I shall turn to town. If the heather is restless, then the fete is …
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Flying Piece of Art Causes Chaos in Switzerland
(from news article, with some additions)
A giant inflatable dog turd by an American artist blew away from an exhibition in the garden of a Swiss Museum, bringing down a power line and breaking a gree
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Flu Fighters
Hood Ornament
Good Hydration
Jacques Strappe
Tar and Feathers
Bad Oyster Band
Mysterian and the Skid Marks
Nimble Candle and the Streakers
Uniball and the Supporters
The Skinny
Rubber Band
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Roaming beetles
knitting needles
chopstick counter attack.
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When we were leaving to go to the ice rink, Lynda surprised all of us by saying she wanted to come along. She slid all the way over in the front seat to be next to me, while one of my buddies, Miller, who had his eye on her himself, slid into the passen
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I can't take it bird by bird because I have neither.
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After he closed the door, Harry stared at the box for a long time before picking it up. I know what it is and I know what it means. Bloody hell. And at Christmas of all times.
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I remember the days when my brother and I would walk down Tillman Square, careful to avoid the cracks zigzagging along the ground. Well I did. My brother made a point to step on every one.
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As soon as I discovered that nasty thing the grownups called “sexuality,” I just knew it would get me in a lot of trouble some day—with Jesus, my parents and some yucky boy—so I hid it. But my Mama and Daddy noticed my sinful sexiness way before I knew I
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Valerie had purchased a new cell phone in late 2007, and, say a few months afterwards, in the beginning of 2008 a demon briefly took up residence in it. She had just returned home from running a few errands, and set her phone down on her desk. She had been focusing on…
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Dream, swan, dream of your woman, whenever you get hold of her. Problem after problem lets up under the grip you have. And conquest without plan is what you’ve added to the world. So, share your songs under wild silk, won’t you? I remember there was hel
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On the way inside, Peter stopped a moment on the deck and scanned the trees for the raven he and Lottie had seen at lunch. It wasn't there. Of course it wasn't there. He scanned the beach, the rocks and broken shells, the damp stinking rafts of seaweed with their rubbery…
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The fabric on the waiting room chairs is stained and matted, but has been cleaned over and over.
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The first photo above shows plainly: five children dressed in suits and dresses. There are three girls. Each girl wears a yellow sundress with chiffon ribbons. The boys have been terrorizing them--the girls, not the dresses.
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Proudly we fight, yetWe run, we hideIn the jungle's quietBut how can we hushthe screams of the dead?
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But Jana insisted to see this miracle, this antidote for the mundanity of existence.
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Writer Marion Winik has ridiculously bad taste in men. She's an intelligent woman and a terrific writer, a good mom with a good heart, and ALL of her romantic relationships are train wrecks.Winik recounts her quest for love at age 50 in her new book, “Highs In The Low…
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IT's like, 15 words. Do you really need a snippet?
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I have never met Joe’s brother, of course.
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contemplatedshredding lettersfrom mybelated betterscauterizingsevered tethershorizoningmy ruffled feathers
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