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The bones are chilled now, past/
invigorations of the coming spring//
and its entanglements
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Also in development,/
the anatomically perfect robot/
pool boy and naughty maid,
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735180
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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
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3253184
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I’m not sure if it’s Punkin or her pink fuzzy bunny slippers that I love.
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1413183
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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.
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1089189
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I want to tell you how the odor of the flowers/felt her funeral day
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I murdered my inner child/
at 7 and neither denied/
nor confessed the act until now.
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We die in order to get some rest
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It is a small life, circumscribed/
by debt and income, age and infirmity./
The Hidden Hand thrusts its middle finger/
high.
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We can apprehend beauty only/
by framing it with the photographic/
paper’s edge or the novel’s margins/
and bookends.
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Exhaling slowly and deeply, Tyler settled his back in against the saddle of the tree's broad trunk and let it all go.
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“ I told you what she said, that she liked me better when I was drinking. Well, that's the way I feel, too. I liked her better when I was drinking.”
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The air is dry and smoky from a fire some miles away. The air is cool. A pair of vultures is soaring in a circle high above the rising land.
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There are no city-chewed streets,/
only white and lilac blooming dogwood trees.
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Overnight, I felt drunk, as if headed for hangover, but I hadn't drunk enough to cause it. What caused it? Superstitions dialed in sleep.
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She scrambles the eggs while the baby howls at her knees. To drown out the racket, she hums as she jabs her fork into the yolks. She enjoys the way they spill their yellow color and swirl into the whites. She matches her tune to the schook, schook, schook of the…
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When I got home from work I parked my briefcase in the hall, acknowledged our dog and immediately went into the kitchen where wife, Sherry, was cooking supper. Without turning around at the sink, she said her usual, How was your day? I said, Fine, and yours? She turned…
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My uncle looks into the bleached eye of his cat and asks
"What happened to my ear?"
The meerkat’s eye replies:
"You had cancer. Remember?
They had to cut off your ear to save you."
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She didn’t look a thing like his girlfriend. This alone should have been a sign that she was just a fling, a diversion from what he had known for the past five years. She began to think of his girlfriend as guess who. Guess who was at the opening, peopl
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Put sunscreen on your / bones.
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She'd sit out on the back deck and dig into the skin around her toenails with a paring knife until it bled. He'd listen to a single aria of Opera's Greatest Hits, number 10, until the cusp of some feeling, either despair or rage, would build and fade. Then he'd start…
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another paper saving 55er
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the epiphany at the mast at midnight is not the same at dawn
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Dinosaurs, a little boy, a hapless mother and mortality.
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He spends his Sunday morning spraying WD-40 through the straw-like stream attachment at the expansive paper nest of beige and ivory striped wasps.
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In my innocence and young mind, I thought that kiss would mean that someday we would get married
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I keep encouraging him to write stories not poems, but I think he enjoys writing things that don’t fit together. Things that stumble.
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