1966 9 4
|
Three hours isn't that long.
|
196688
|
Out the window we could see the parking lot and, across the street, the Bijou Moonlight Laundromat.
|
19661510
|
. . . quit being so rigid, open up to the pasta.
|
1966157
|
My mind has started to finish thoughts at 77 Words. These are just a few.
|
196622
|
Marion had decided to stop whenever she came upon Amarillo. It was close to two a.m. when she pulled into the motel parking lot. Momma, read the nametag on the woman at reception. Her face was illuminated by a TV. Her hair curlers were illuminated by the lone desk lamp…
|
1966169
|
She was as distant as Mao, someone I never met, but whom everyone carried in their eyes,
|
196685
|
We were old. Wind came in with small threats and played games with drapes. A print of orchids and some other green affair that looked to me like kiwis. Sadie was arranging some items on a desk and I noticed there was a cricket on the window. I was thinking…
|
196651
|
She watches too much VH1 for a five-year-old.
|
196612
|
The zombie apocalypse was long foretold as a rather exciting bit of bother involving shotguns and chainsaws, but the reality of it is rather depressingly boring.
|
196641
|
Leo, leo, leo, leo, the word itself imprinted on my brain, carved with a pearl handled blade into my cerebral cortex, into the medulla, burrowed deep into my dreams, I miss your kissing.
|
196522
|
Her face had that strange preserved quality Maybelle saw in many aging Boomer women — like an old toy never removed from its packaging.
|
196500
|
The words of prophets only serve to demonstrate that ‘unreliable narrative’ can often result in poor literature; unfortunately, poor literature can attract a very large following.
|
196527
|
Regina Dawn "Gina" Edwards, 49, passed away June 2, 2006.
R.I.P. "Ridge Woman"
|
196573
|
Roanne banged the chiva, turned tricks, and ran out of road.
|
1964124
|
all / the secret letters/ ever dreamed up
|
196421
|
The Bike Messenger on Lexington Avenue
Comes to rest
taking a moment
in the falling rain
slowly massaging the
veins at the top
of his bald head
Cracking his neck
while the yellow cabs start
honking behind him
Unwilling to mov
|
1964149
|
By the thousands youngsters swarmed into the streets shuffling aimlessly, many mumbling to themselves, heads bowed as their eyes stared fixedly at the plastic devices in their hands.
|
1964107
|
god bless my shapeless head. we are good at becoming older. i feel incredibly negative all the time.
|
19641110
|
Slip me in Between the cracks in your schedule Between the sheets of your bed Between your memories and your fears Between your eyes and the moon where I'll twinkle at you Slip me in somewhere, I won't disturb you Won't make you want to push me away Let…
|
196402
|
I might as well just keep driving. Past my exit. Beyond my job. Just drive. Until the tank runs out of gas. A blank future is better than this bleak one.
|
19634024
|
What used to be a scene has broken into fragments and blips of her on a screen I can’t control or manipulate.
|
19632916
|
"...they ran shirtless like pagans under southern stars."
|
19631211
|
Maybe, after years of writing poems like letters, he began to notice that no one ever wrote him back.
|
196300
|
Bo ruled the city by suggesting new scent formulas in a booming croak of a voice that shook the earth for acres around, yet as a result everybody on the block smelled like fairy breath. Or, on his BAD BREATH DAYS all of the people reeked of rotted sushi f
|
196342
|
The dogs shit on the roof and then, every two weeks or so, the man in Apartment 311 climbs out the window with a plastic shovel and scoops the shit into a white plastic bag, which soon grows heavy with dung, dangling from his black-gloved wrist.
|
19632415
|
Put down your bazooka, Marianne.
|
196398
|
We know a poem isn't going to stop you From invading our town. It won't get you to Listen to our birds any more than to our Sunsets. That's not why we do it. We know A poem isn't going to break the blade of Your knife like an…
|
196375
|
When it rains, I can really think.
|
196200
|
His footing unsure and his clothes covered in vomit, he grabs the railing and stumbles up the three steps. He pulls off his shirt, finds a cleaner area on the puke-covered garment, wipes sweat off his forehead, dripping wet from the humid, stormy night, a
|
19621010
|
He says he’ll have a Bud, too. The woman taps her pencil on her pad, looks at the kid and says, “When?”
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