1994 11 7
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On the bank of the stream, we take off our clothes and dash into the water.
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199442
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Two by two they come walking
down 7th Ave
girl with girl
boy and girl
boy and boy
two pigeons strolling
side by side
two robins
two crows walking stiffly
like two pieces of
anthracite coal
two spiders
two dogs sniffing each oth
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199473
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i imagined myself & i was phlox saxifrage pompom ranunculus
poppy anemone ornamental onion rattlesnake red ribbon nerine
& i loved the painted tongue
& i wore the rattlesnake
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199476
|
...some years later I heard that an old friend jumped off that bridge to her death.
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199494
|
History is replete with brutally imaginative techniques of torture and execution, but I am the only death machine that doubles as a musical instrument.
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199432
|
Rob thought he might even make it. He'd stopped off south of Seattle, in Kent, and filled up the tank and went back in the can and topped off again. He got back on the road, to all appearances blase, blase. The montages were muted, at least for…
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199312
|
Sawyer walked toward the lone house with the sentinel trees.
Behind him there were no tracks in the snow.
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1993127
|
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199200
|
Tombstones are only granite symbols of a man’s life, Gus thought as he changed lanes. Children, they were the ultimate epitaph.
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19911611
|
I sit down next to a youngster on the couch. “Would you like to see?” she asks. “See what?” I reply....
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199121
|
I used to think the world was fucked and it was up to me and me alone to see it unfucked. That's really what I used to think, but I've been trying to work on that. It's not a particularly flattering characteristic I have. I'm trying to be more positive.
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19911413
|
. . . clinging to life in a shroud of winter air. It veered up five flights to a sweltering summer night on the roof . . .
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199143
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I cannot read one more award winning novel by a female Asian author about the atrocities committed against their childhood, she thought. Then she sat down with her trusty yellow pad and Papermate fineline to write the next lyrical story of a female Asian writer and the…
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19912413
|
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199100
|
Madam Mayweather heard the laughter stop and the copy of Jean-Pierre burst into smoke. Her silence was intense. Nobody in the auditorium knew what to expect. No one dared to say a single word.
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199163
|
Your finger quivers as it writes
Upon me words in water,
Words I cannot read nor drink
But feel them as you drink
Them with your tongue
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19911313
|
My friend says there's some kind of bug that bites its mate's head off after they have sex.
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1990137
|
A team of reggae journalists played and an unknown man came after work for me in a kilt.
|
199000
|
Physical therapy was on the agenda every morning, first thing. A nurse would come to my room from the basement floor where they did physical therapy. She'd wrap me in a blanket and put me into a wheelchair, even though it was obvious I didn't need one to
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19902119
|
Every day hurts, just a little, but not enough
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199051
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Class (appears in my book Breaking it Down; no journal publication) When your neighbor James Frehley cusses you out for hanging a block and tackle from the silver maple in your front lawn, begin to pull the engine from your Galaxie anyway, smile and nod…
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199022
|
1. The Walking Heart Attack Man has two outfits. In the summer he dresses in a short sleeve checkered button down shirt and high waisted Bermuda shorts with sandals. In the winter he wears dark pants and loafers with a gray corduroy coat…
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199011
|
My best friend and roommate Eliza woke up one morning with the sudden conviction that she had to become very fat, as soon as possible.
|
198986
|
Every lunch time the numerous small jukeboxes that are distributed about the dining area fill the air with webs of King Curtis and Benny Goodman.
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198920
|
When Elvis died, I felt so empty that I headed straight for Jimmy Choo's, but quietly, with the half-veil of my pillbox hat draped low over my face. I didn't want to draw attention to my vintage Dior mourning outfit, since I normally wear pants, even here. The voices…
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198912
|
She can tell you seven things she doesn’t love about her face.
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198985
|
As long as he could still take the stairs, he would go down there to be with the memories that each piece held. He knew that their time was about up, because his was too. His wife had already gone, and even before that she had long stopped using the washe
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198900
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Sometimes I have really violent dreams where I smash Libby’s face in with a liquor bottle, a brick, a mounted boar’s head... really whatever my brain makes available to me. I always wake up satisfied.
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1989168
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The three of us traveled seven hours that day and Al traveled as far in the service of finding the right tool for his writing.
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19892718
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1. The ghost that photographs my wife and me has a peculiar sense of lighting. In this one, we are sitting at the kitchen table of our old apartment. The table is made of glass. There is nothing on the table except our elbows. She has lowered her head between her…
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