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for Bill YarrowPoetry is a way of breathingagainst the enemy's chest withoutlosing consciousness again. Itis a ghost dance. Poetry is tobe determined by the plight of bees.Poetry is a waterfall ona mailing list. I've never tasteda finer whiskey than poetry.Poetry is half…
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Where will you hide? Because you know it Will seek you out for answers you might Only be asking for yourself. It Will send many students to stand outside Your apartment and chant your name. It will beg you to perform its birth Again to the…
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It came up heads so he is going first. He puts on a condom and gets in
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She wears three or four tattered sweaters on cool days. She pushes a basket borrowed from a grocery store. There is a plastic lawn bag in the basket with God knows what inside.
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It was not that he was boring – it’s just that he needed a lot of encouragement. When he came, he whispered to himself, ‘ohgodohgodohgod’ - like it was something to be ashamed of, to be sorry for. I wanted to hold him close against me but I also n
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1564159
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At the graveyard, the leaves had been raked into loose array....
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If I had slept a little longer, I/
would not have seen this rarity at all.
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far beyond the far beyond
sparkles the stars like sparkles
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For one glittering moment
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I almost kept him
on the shelf with all the trophies.
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“I’m going home,” I answered, but the word home seemed inappropriate. I hadn’t told the truth and felt something, not guilt as guilt was far too strong, but still I felt something that moved me enough to amend my answer: “I’m going to the place where I gr
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She tells Tuesday's lover that there's nothing wrong with cheap thrills without anesthesia,
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When we would leave her place I never had a firm idea where I was taking her except I knew - and she knew - that eventually we'd end up back at my place. We did this a lot when her husband, Mack, was out of town. Every couple of weeks his job took him to…
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I believe I will become a bear, snuggle up in a deep cave, coil myself inside my fur, close my eyes on hurting images, turn a deaf ear to the uproar of the world. Bolt my door to the deceiving voices outside. Sleep. Forget. Wait, as we wait for spring, for the violet and…
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Flexeril and Hydrocodon... For my back
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To touch our skin was filthy,
to spread our legs a mortal sin. You closed
the keyholes to keep us apart, so we used them
to keep you out and keep our secrets to ourselves.
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I didn't hear your last words or see your lasteyes. I didn't reach you in time, so I sat by your corpse,silently saying goodbye. I am in that process,not sour, not sweet, that yoked speaking which can't(because the heart won't let it) utter its whisperedlast word, but…
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born to be mistreated by beasts in human shapes
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I staggered away in the storm
tears frozen to my cheeks.
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I have become interested in Carracci / Ludovico Carracci
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It was a dire and dun-colored year when groupies wept and autograph seekers put down their pens.
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When you return home, one year to the day that you left us, you will wonder if you can do it all over again.
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Sixteen years married, and now she wants a wedding ring. He brings her a box of Cracker Jack. She doesn’t think it is funny.
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A farm girl raised on fresh eggs and weather forecasts...
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They say, we have hangnails.
I say, I have a bruised leg.
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with images overflowing with delicate thought scenes with nightmarish wet dreams
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I dreamt I was spinning down the coast in a convertible. It was warm, and the top was down.
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