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“When he felt most loved, he felt most _ burdened.” Stephen Dobyns When she loved him she burdened him. She knew he felt a pull but he always resisted it. They went to an old refurbished hotel in Venice and asked if they might see the rooms. …
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By the thousands youngsters swarmed into the streets shuffling aimlessly, many mumbling to themselves, heads bowed as their eyes stared fixedly at the plastic devices in their hands.
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When Uncle Dan got sent to the Alzheimer's ward, the ladies licked their lips. Fresh meat.
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hunting after dark,/
in the quiet they seemed to appear/ with every new poem I read, each new workshop, some hunting carried on/ by both animals.
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Six months later, she was teaching theology / to refugees from est.
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The place is buzzing with little women, all clad in black smocks.
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Momma’s hands smell of vanilla.
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Maybe tonight, maybe next week,/
maybe only in my waking dreams,/
I’ll teach another lesson-
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The will to make/
remains
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My art teacher hated Salvador Dali.
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‘Do you know that tables aren’t actually solid’ he said suddenly. ‘I mean there’s loads of space in the molecules that make up wood or whatever. The only reason we can’t push through them is because of the force.’
Nearby the Android called up his light
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It was 14:24 official eBay time. Louise had spent hours looking at over 30,000 items under “Elvis Memorabilia"
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The darkness isn’t evil but invisible/
in the otherwise excellent light of day
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In the evening the curtain recounts its day. Faces, images, incidents it has observed from the window. Its voice is nuanced, modulated, quivering, for it is made of lace. It appears to crochet its words with needle sounds. My eyes, during confinement, are not wide open, not…
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I am seven years old today and I want the dog by the river, the one with the great mane of hair like my father's who is a singer at night, and with big ears, too, that grow from the top of its head so that I can tug on them if it's being bad or stroke them…
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“What was the line in the movie Dad?...
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He hates this body no less now/
than he did at 14 for its pudginess/
and the hair that can’t conform
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At five o’clock in the afternoon, at five o’clock / in the afternoon
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A.The poem of rational progression is dulling.Make the leap. Go beyond juxtaposition to collision.We like poetry that does double duty, triple duty, quadruple duty. We like poetry that mixes the grit, poetry that has the texture of complexity.Reason asserts an…
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Sometimes we hurt ourselves, we scratch ourselves, we bleed — for a simple joy... All I wanted to do was to find the poplar again — the tree of my young arms, of my budding breasts. My fingers used to circle around its bold and vigorous waist, but in the…
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You have a house (plural, as in Spain)
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I knew it was just a matter of time...
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She walks ahead, dropping matches as she goes. Grassland is consumed by flames and when I arrive all is wasted.
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Dear Brandon Lee: I know that you're dead and can't respond to letters, but I've always felt a connection to you.
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Then I heard it -- a sound like an oboe being strangled. Teeny was farting onto the cement stoop through her jeans, a tripple flutter blast.
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No one means to go that way, on an errand to the mall....
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