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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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475138
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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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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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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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23281312
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I’m a black and white figure--out of place in a Saturday morning cartoon.
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1220136
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It wasn't so much the softness of the bed that kept her from sleep, or the pungent bleach-scent of the unfamiliar sheets, but the lack of her clock's familiar tick, tick, tick. Or was it a missing heartbeat? Awake, she watched his chest. On the table, an empty pill …
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last night a girl came
to me in the shape
of my suicide.
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we share somewhat the same past
he was bureau chief of ABC overseas
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Heaven’s a blast! It’s like a big summer camp in space...We are the weavers of the tie-dyed sky.
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Inevitability: it's what's for dinner.
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for he shall inherit your dream.
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they’d been pumping him
with Dilaudid at night,
to adjust his palette for what was
coming, in the soft lamp light he
watched his long fingers sprout pink
caterpillar fuzz, knuckles morphed
into hinges for Monarch butterflies,
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I will not tell you that your anger is wrong, child.
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1167139
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Stalks were scythed to submission one stroke at a time
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Walking those damned dogs is a pain… a PAIN every night. If it’s not urban skunks, it’s Mormons on bikes… the bastards
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In his inexpert mouth they drone/
mechanically along without the lilt/
or cadence of an Irishman/
or Englishman or German.
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Death is both alien and intimate to us; neither wholly strange nor purely one's own.
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Now, if someone is tellin' you that she had a date with Edgar Allen Poe, you might be tempted to say, "Hey, sister, what kind of drugs you be doin' for the last two days?" But I swear on my Aunt Boo's chastity belt that's what went down and with my…
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The love of hundreds of people, seemingly, rain down from the sky, but its not like when the cock hits the good spot inside you. And everybody who is reading this knows this is true. We all know what that feels like, that aha moment, that eiphany, like,
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It’s so hard to get to know people these days. Even the social ones wall you out with politeness. Like jackknives with pearl handles in a display case.
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My eyes hold my mother. It's not easy being human she tells me. She always told me. Sure, but the stories are lovely. We all know that. We generate the tales, tell the tales, kiss our children. Live on in their eyes, though, don't…
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