1548 13 8
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Attached in the center were the petals of a small flower pressed in wax paper. Uncreased, she read it out loud
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Here was the situation, as I recounted it to myself: somehow, I was trapped in some unearthly dimension where Baltimore, actor Emilio Estevez, and myself had somehow collided in a big cartoon scrum complete with onomatopoeias and clouds of dust.
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1631133
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—It’s difficult to say, he said. I have mood swings. Women don’t like that. They become upset.
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14981312
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My wife, Sheila, inadvertently clicked my e-mail address, too, when she sent her reply back to him and I read her poet friend's message that her love opened the window of his heart and she replied that his words were knocks that opened the door to her being, then I stood…
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The creatures were thief-walking...
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I travel over your body with small feet,
reach your heart.
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With the morning comes the repetition...
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We have no more leaders, only rulers who live in another country. I don't ask why my cousin's hand is bandaged, what he's been burning, what's tarped in his truck.
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Well, I finally checked myself into this what you call a “ Facebook Rehab Clinic” up here just about 40 miles outside of Kalispell, Montana in a little town called Gulag and, as I'm sure you can guess, there's no posting or commenting or liking anything anymore…
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the world slips under the waves
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I miss Mother gentling the small of my back. She has forgotten me. Her little girl. Whose thumb she fussed over when a rose thorn scratched it and blood spilled like a secret. Whose smile she said was her morning sunshine, whose hug was incense. I yearn for her lips…
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1721137
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That year, if you asked Al, was truly the best of times, the worst of times.
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Her mother dressed her like a little girl would dress a doll.
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Every morning if I don't have to go potty....
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It will be a beautiful, luminous, rollicking, transcendent book, the manuscript smudged with tomato sauce and tears.
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I don’t remember much about kindergarten.... The teacher’s name was Mrs. Halverson. She was nice.
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Shhhh, my husband is trying to write...
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fallen leaves, broken limbs fron wounded trees
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She sits and waitsOn a chair that is hardWith a neck that hurtsAnd an eyeball that stings.She sitsSo stiffOn a chair that is hardWith a neck that hurtsAnd an eyeball that stings.She sitsAnd the hand on her lapHas a joint that cracksWith a neck that hurtsAnd an eyeball that…
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18511310
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Why is there a heavy weight and a chain and a padlock in her woodstove? Because, she says to herself, slightly hysterically, because this is yet another thing that you must carry. Why? Because life is full of chains and padlocks and heavy weights. Hea
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15471311
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My books wound you. They wound me / too.
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I try to envision long-haired men riding horses across a vast expanse, their faces blank as those of my students.
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Plastic Jesus wears a crown of thorns. I gesture and say: Does that hurt? He says: What do you mean? so I point at his forehead and his hand goes to it and he says O that
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You'll be gone. I'll be gone. I'd hate to think how it was all for nothing, that all we did was stumble into a pretty big hole of our own making. The best place for a broken heart after all is in your own sweet chest. No one else…
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I’m a black and white figure--out of place in a Saturday morning cartoon.
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