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I get it. Poetry is an effort. Language is an effort. Words are an effort. Reading words is an effort. A big effort. It takes energy. Attention. Focus. Who has that? Nobody. So truly. I mean it. You don't have to read this. If you're already reading this you can…
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The hour reflected those pleasant moments when evening hunger can be satiated by anticipation alone, before the pangs become demanding.
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You always complained that Christmas/
ruined your birthday/
sister.
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the only safe place for him was anywhere he and Barkley could huddle,
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the making by taking away
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Behind them all, in the background, a tray of vodka tonics waits on a glass table, the limes losing color as they drown.
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I interviewed in an hour and didn’t have an umbrella, so I ducked inside the next door I passed. It didn’t matter what they sold, I wasn’t there to make a purchase.
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Do not shake the baby. Shake the martini. That’s what martinis are for.
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everything moved in circles
like the music, the booze and the drugs
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once she went to quenchthen she went to scrubnow she collects dead toadsgrinds them with cornmeal to feed her sowsonce she ploughed the land toiled with her face deep in dark soil her back burning in hot sunnow she works in the paper millmaking laminated labels for the…
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We aren't designed for darkness. Something deep inside of us, something much older and deeper than us is telling us to move away, get to warm, because if we don’t, come winter we will die.
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That was before Cohen died. Castro died. Castro Died should be a title by Samuel Beckett. Once I nearly went out to buy a bass clarinet just for the purpose of playing along with Leonard Cohen.
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I never thought I’d miss the sound of church bells, reminding me of my sudden apostasy,
faintly ringing over the rumpus where even the birds can’t get a word in edgeways.
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Just stay at home woman, and do your job /
wash those dishes, mama, its what I pays you for
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You call your wife. “Do you see what I see?” you ask.
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I'm sure someone somewhere must havefelt something like it before. Imean I've never been able tohave this kind of deep longing asif you might want to forget everythingyou know. I always figured that funny stuff onlyhappened to folks in a foreignfilm. Not to some guy…
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The winter following their son's death, Mr. Kelly's wife became absorbed by the tracks that ran in back of their house. At any given hour in the night, he'd hear her in the next room, their son's old room where she now slept, shuffling through dresser drawers. He…
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The handsome man at the opposite table swivels his head at the tall cool slim blonde entering the breakfast cafe. The ordinary woman sitting with him adjusts her chair accordingly. She pretends to ignore her husband's distraction, smoothes her hair, licks her…
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A brief colorful season/
and then the fall as winds/
break the hold the leaves have
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Tyler has a Mars bar in his jeans pocket. It’s warm and soft. He tries to insert it.
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The plumber has three lives left or else he is already dead.
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I sought to feel something. I hunted my mortality. I craved that rush of life pulsating through my veins.
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You can't always get what you want, and fortunately, that's sometimes a good thing.
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Can’t seem to put your clothes on today. You’re wandering in the little closet of your mind again, picking at socks that won’t stay up, shirts that are always too big -
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He pounds the roof of the Pontiac with the side of his fist and it rumbles like a timpani. He raises his head to light and wipes the sweat from his forehead. There's no sense in fighting it. He will go back and knock on Peter's door.
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