190 6 5
|
I write my new poem in the gardenBut not like Mary OliverMore like meDirt under my fingernailsReal dirtI can feel the grit of it Something that shouldn't be thereBut is.
|
15543
|
count vb (late 14c) “to enumerate, assign numerals to successively and in order; repeat the numerals in order”; also “to reckon among, include,” from Old French conter “to count, add up,” also “tell a…
|
20534
|
My heart raced. I couldn't swallow. Heat rose under my skin, sharp and disorienting. I wanted to disappear—to fold inward, to dissolve—but instead of leaving, I walked toward him.
|
19932
|
That there are a downstairs, and high voices.
|
11132
|
The tinny beer can fell from my desk
and exploded over my head
|
11931
|
Albert's alarm was on the verge of being dispelled by the cognac when another occurrence rattled him. In one of his vest pockets he located a short note addressed to him by Schrödinger. “—but no, this cannot be!”
|
7200
|
Your device silently murdered my poem just moments ago because I happened to write your device is killing you, but not only you, and not just us. That seashell should tell you everything. Your latest device is soundly seeping under every…
|
