1410 18 8
|
She’s there, in a tin, loosely wound
beneath sepia tissue paper, a braid
to worry in your fingers.
|
1739 18 17
|
"It's time to move the chair..."
|
1691 18 7
|
This is the only time she feels she can be herself.
|
1967 18 11
|
Last Christmas Eve, my Nana shot my grandfather in the foot because he wouldn't stop boning the woman up the street. So on Christmas Eve, after Nana drank a bunch of those baby-sized Miller Hi-life beers, she went upstairs, got her pistol, and said, “I'm gonna…
|
1129 18 10
|
The one thing I believe in is collapse./
Abandoned buildings collapse. Civilizations//
collapse. Financial bubbles collapse./
Stars and galaxies collapse. Falling//
is something that comes quite naturally/
to puffed up things.
|
1158 18 16
|
Gossip Betty Martini divorces husbands when they least expect it. On a seeming whim, she pays a visit to dear Arnold, who keeps her papers handy in his top desk drawer. She initials here and there, signs with a…
|
1004 18 10
|
But if He makes you happy, stands/
as bulwark against the vast, indifferent/
and deadly universe, then cling to Him
|
1476 18 13
|
The young man is back again, solo,
|
1127 18 11
|
My poetry is bare, showing its pink and purplish imperfections and its injuries. I buy it a dress to hide its bruises, to ornate it a little, to make it smile. On its rather ugly and mishaped body, the dress looks comical, ridiculous, clumsy, like a bird with a broken wing.…
|
1096 18 9
|
The Street singer gathers up his coins
and counts to a hundred before
The last string stops vibrating
|
1117 18 11
|
|
1596 18 16
|
captured by his lens and plates/
before humidity and hydrocarbons/
smudge the crisp clean lines
|
359 18 16
|
|
1357 18 9
|
feathered waves of tangerine peach
|
1193 18 14
|
There are things we must not say.
|
1246 18 17
|
They meant no harm when they flooded farms in its swirls and eddies
|
1847 18 11
|
The hairs on my arm lift with the breeze; a haunting breath from the open window carrying night-scented stock from the black-shrouded garden.
|
106 18 9
|
Nobody looks for Gina between the hours of four and five. Her father is on swing shift for the rest of the summer; his two o'clock- dinner plates are soaking in a sinkful of scummy water. Her mother is fanning herself in the shade of the wisteria, most of her…
|
1368 18 14
|
The bones are chilled now, past/
invigorations of the coming spring//
and its entanglements
|
1419 18 14
|
Also in development,/
the anatomically perfect robot/
pool boy and naughty maid,
|
825 18 0
|
I don’t read.
I don’t do the dishes.
What am I?
If I were more domesticated, I’d poop in the street.
I’d lift my leg and pee on the bushes.
I would chase after every ass in the hood
and sniff them too.
I wouldn’t fetch much.
What am I? Wha
|
1358 18 9
|
|
3412 18 4
|
I’m not sure if it’s Punkin or her pink fuzzy bunny slippers that I love.
|
1556 18 3
|
Male genitals were usually portrayed diminutively in classical art. After forty minutes in a drafty room without cloths on, I was beginning to understand why.
|
1195 18 9
|
I want to tell you how the odor of the flowers/felt her funeral day
|
1581 18 15
|
I murdered my inner child/
at 7 and neither denied/
nor confessed the act until now.
|
1155 18 9
|
|
1581 18 16
|
We die in order to get some rest
|
1306 18 14
|
It is a small life, circumscribed/
by debt and income, age and infirmity./
The Hidden Hand thrusts its middle finger/
high.
|
1307 18 11
|
We can apprehend beauty only/
by framing it with the photographic/
paper’s edge or the novel’s margins/
and bookends.
|