1070 2 1
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How can you stop a man from running naked through your dreams? I want to know. This ought to be taught, somewhere. In schools, or somewhere. I could never stop you from doing what you wanted with me, and didn’t want to either. You had complete leave of
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159021
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Hollywood is the land of the slow no.
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182722
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Most people assume I’m gay, and have assumed I’m gay since I was in fifth grade. Maybe sooner. Maybe fifth grade is just my first memory of recognizing what other people believed true about me. But coming out as a gay man in 1987, when I was in fifth gra
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141621
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It is like truth on the battle field. Muted
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106023
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A nice girl is like powder, quick to anger, fresh, impudent, too quick to know what expletives fate speaks. It was a cold year for trash talk and sheer silk. And yes, the fox was smoking, who could attract or irritate a nice girl with the same look, a wom
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126022
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At the Winslow Funeral Home in Winslow, Arizona, just like in the Eagles’ 70s song “Take It Easy,” only I’m not taking it easy.
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192422
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In those days everyone ate poetry for lunch. It was considered essential for your good up-bringing and mental health. We would skip a meal in order to satisfy our hunger for words. To hell with a meal. To hell with dirty politics and meaningless wars on o
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110921
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I know what that coast was like, where you went. A coarse country filled with malodorous women that sang from the shores. Groups of nine stripped to the waist. Some with braids hanging down their back. Garden beauties. Visual porticos, with their floral
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100521
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The cabinets in D’s kitchen are a pantry of unusual sounds. It is where they are stored.
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117722
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It didn't matter if they burned or not.
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133221
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Under a conspiratorial moon… the shovel my silent partner… organ-less torso to the worms.
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122621
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Did I refer to Mark Twain’s typewriter as an animal? Did I call it a hyena? I would not say that about Mark Twain’s typewriter.
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131221
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I stared at these meteor impacts, feeling far away, a lone sentient cloud admiring the scoured yet wondrous earth-of-this-girl below me, the lean slope of her side, the soft dip of her neck, the sharp edge of her cheekbone, the monarch wing of her eyelash
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124621
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In the living room of a model home, Mr. Jorgensen lived. He was a mannequin. He spent his days in display windows. He spent his commutes displaying the latest model cars.
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136421
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they flew down the slopes
with her holding on
for all she was worth
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166521
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I kept a journal
for so many years
I've forgotten
everything I wrote.
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101320
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She's been considering her breasts more now.
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94220
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I don’t like telling stories. I’m far too honest and give far too many things away.
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116322
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Pictures of war correspondents from The Tribune, and colonial photographs in a fruit crate
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87221
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[Scumbag scumbag ― fuck you!!! Stop reading this it's my private JOURNAL!!! Thanks. ;) ]
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44822
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Now her right breast was annoying her.
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177224
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100021
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“You’re just like me,” she said, as dawn was breaking. “You like sex.”
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107622
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Yes, I had pulled my own heart apart
Yes, I had slipped up on time itself
In its own backyard behind my memories
And scared the crap out of it
By not yelling, just sniffing at its neck
Longingly, tearing it apart with my teeth
Wishing I had
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93622
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Are there places that words cannot go? Consider words going where they were never intended to go.
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70822
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Standing on the edge of the great shelf
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172820
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Nothing more savory than gossip relayed in confidential tones.
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107120
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Her smile was a cliff I stood on, trying to wrangle some kind of hope from the whites of her teeth. I heard the sound of the buzzer from the door on my ward. She stood there, a sickly ash tree, each limb flailing about like she was drowning in my sea of a
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95520
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Edwin was the last thing I bought. With his uneven eyes and curious leg stumps, he was a must-have. When I showed Edwin to my housemates he was hugged many times, and praised as though he was real. Knowing my housemates, Edwin may have saved some lives…
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116520
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Poets die every day but are seldom in position to put the experience to literary merit.
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