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"I looked at this skinny, little female child, Meadow Simms. It wasn't only that she was small. Meadow Simms didn't look like other children. Her parents were hippies."
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She was the blonde one and the dark-haired one and the one with curly hair and the one with straight hair, the one in the long scarf and even the boy with the camera.
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Papa says an adding machine tape has gotten tangled up around his legs. He pulls it off his leg, but it's really his catheter tube, so he wets the bed. I tell him he's not in a tree, and I clean it up. He tells me all about it for an hour, and I to bed.…
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youthful pin oaks grant solemn attention to the aluminum gurney
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Eat me so I can sink in your mouth, my paper fraying along the sharp topography of your tongue, lodging in the holes where your teeth used to be. There, I will storm an infection until your mouth inks my words.
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I haven't been here in a while!
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“Later,” I say to the frisky crickets, verbal cash of the eggnog spa, spot of gum…
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So, as the lines on my face grow more pronounced, the lines on my finger prints are fading away?
All I can say is that it's a damn shame it's not the other way around.
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You burnish what is left
until it shines and call it
your own.
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If I felt like reading a book
then I would read a book
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Jessie and Hannah drop mescaline together, and screw in an abandoned storefront crash pad. We call it the Rock Shop.
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The water lapped against the sides of the small boat, their rhythm all that I could think of. Sweltering rays beat down, frying my flesh, the insipid salty breeze that occasionally stirred my only relief from it. Gulls circled overhead, like white ravens,
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The condemned, arrested/
and convicted as a consequence/
of cheerlessness, must be prepared
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"Is a dream a lie if it don't come true, or is…
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(originally appeared in Lit Up)http://litupmagazine.wordpress.com/poetry/rusty-barnes/Remind me never to call youagain after you get home late,for the familiar fear of the deadbolt noise,the shifty creak of your linoleum floor,the way you throw your jacket overthe sofa and…
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All else is unmoved/
and relentless in its indifference.
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The time has come
to scrape the wax from my menorah.
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Time Change in Florida #2 Sapped, yes. But not finished. Not yet.So what if I mostly live in my head?Who says I have to be out running aroundimproving body income outgo technical savvy? The dizzy awe of a Southwestern …
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Because of her I got there early, and like I figured, the train was late.
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...and he would stumble from bed in a panic and fling the toothbrush at the mirror cursing all the while "fuck fuck why can't I forget her".
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Now it was black line, wall, turn, and black line.
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Observe the withered/
head atop the pole.
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The voices he hears are God and the Devil and he knows the difference. Therefore, he is not mentally ill.
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Unless they leave you comatose,/
it’s the disasters you remember.
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Born in 1954, I identify as a Baby Boomer. But what does that mean, really? Who exactly are we Boomers? And how does the world see us? I decided to perform a quick Google Search and find out. I typed in the phrase “Boomers Are…” Here's…
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“Your husband is an asshole, isn’t he?” he asks.
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not to free ourselves//
from suffering//
but become the window//
through which it sees//
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Thank you for the flip book with the woman dancing, bird wing elbows, knees this way and that.
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Catullus 16 I will fuck you up the ass and then the mouth, Furius the catamite, and pederast Aurelius: you both who think, because my poems are salty, that I possess your equal lack of shame: for it's proper for a poet to be moral, no way essential for it…
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