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Can you see the dark advice?The offspring of the hazardous.Plath's worst poemswere Daddy and Lady Lazarus.Would you explorethe narrowing tunnelsof such splendiferous narcissism?Would you call so passionatelyfor a much better resurrection?A myriad of livesthat rise like…
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A strange man tapped my door and held up the shoes for me to see. “It is the Dork Shoe,” he said. I looked past him at his dusty station wagon filled with boxes. “I have your size right here.” I observed the halo of his gray hair as he…
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Being burned with a branding iron really hurts. Everyone must have voted for the Forge because next thing I knew there was only God on TV
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All haters have small ducks for brains. Look. We came here to do a job, to make a beautiful thing rise up, sprouting like the new moon out of a harsh sunlight blaring off concrete, to blast a…
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Hollow as spit over rock
Was the mood in the library...
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I submit to you, your sentiencethat circulatesthru a nothing more than I,than all the moonssurrendering down their grace,than sun-bright gospels assembling deep belowthis mountainof solipsistic snow,where oxygen is lostas distance buries distanceand silent mirrorsrequire no…
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Ascent/Assent
Together the horizon/
Catechism of love
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. . . we agree that formal standards for identifying literary merit exist and are capable of being discerned, not merely of being ascribed. —but is this itself true?
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Henry's had a messy day. He splashed, he jumped, he rolled and played. He wrote in books, dressed up the dog, And on the wall he drew a frog. He's wearing dinner, seconds too, And for dessert some fruity goo. It's come to live on…
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my molars are dancing, tekka-tekking to the strung-out paint can groove of my heart.
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In this way a section of a marsh or weapons testing range, a forest or corporate landscape is transported into his living room.
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The darkest fruits are the sweetest, as we exit the brightness. And when god stopped us for a moment(a moment I'm not quite sure has ended) we saw those messages none decipher. What was the point of seeing? If we could not even read them, Was it the…
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Consider this. Only a sentence ago we were complete strangers, oceans of time, distance and thought between us.
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A man wearing a dark green coat closed the door loudly. Tanu sat up straight, and stared at him. He looked around till he found her face and sat down in front of her.
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The ticking must have gone on for an hour before Kathy realized it wasn't a clock. When the line finally moved, the rhythm changed. When the queue stopped again, she glanced behind her and noticed a woman in torn jeans and a filthy sweater tapping a heel on the…
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Sure, it was a hot day, but the driver was in the middle of a driving lesson!
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"I'm just going to
take a power nap!"
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Or, today, when early summer sweated the long pants off every woman under the age of thirty. Did I notice the way you looked at them for one, two, three seconds; then didn't, partial to short-shorts. It was sly how you kept them in your line of sight, alm
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I arrived at Yaddo, the prestigious artists’ retreat, in the summer of 1941. With America’s “day that will live in infamy” several months away, my own day of infamy began the second morning of my residency.
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Woman With Water Bottles has taken up a little spot in the back of my brain, her hair tickling her eyes in the breeze.
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Lama’s mother is dead. She died when Lama was just outgrowing her ballet tutus. When Lama talks about it, it is with the air of one who picks honeysuckle over jasmine. It gives sunshine, she says, to graves. Our epitaphs are so mechanical otherwise.
Un
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I got a male bouffant hairdo like Trump
I can’t wait to develop patience
And the next time I have a ringing in my head
I’m not going to answer it
Can I Get a New To-Do List?
I tried changing my name to Richard Vixen
Until the State Dept. too
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It's cheap beer, but cold
you welcome that rushing hiss and the following
long drink of chilly wetness washing away
the parched, dust dry, cotton mouth
of grave-digging in the desert sun
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Canta el Hombre...canta una canción que guarda una llamada. Está invitando a Dios a venir. Mas cuando canta una canción que guarda el recuerdo de un camino hacia una casa sin muros ni cercado, cuando cada vibración actúa como un minúsculo paso hacia ese hogar sin…
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Julius winced, knowing there was no way out. Amy showed him every worm, every insect, every dead mouse she’d found when they were in the fields. She pulled him forward, making his bruised shoulder burn.
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I guess it was, you know, a daze thing: He, lightly drunk, turning red in parts of his head, in his cheeks mostly, and his chest, to which my eyes were drawn because of his v-neck douchebag shirt; and I, sleepy beyond belief, sustained like a zombie only
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Soon you too will lie down with the sleep of rain, telling them a thing or two, grown old by having lived through your youth, that is all. Lying from the side of your mouth so often that you take up lying on your side, to try getting an eyeful of the of
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“There is no future in art,
you will not change lives
with flowery words.
Please don’t rock the boat”
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