1989 27 12
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Nothing has changed//
except the toys and fashion.
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198921
|
“Where did it go? You don’t know do you?” he teased the dogs as he adjusted the bottle rocket he had twisted into the ground at his feet, trying to find the optimal path.
|
198977
|
She came from the land of rumpled sheets. She was the very definition of sex. She was the breeze through the wind chimes of his heart. One might say that she actually invented the orgasm. All mirages are this way. Perfect until they disappear. They
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198922
|
He pulls on his wispy goatee and shifts his weight a few times from one foot to the other. That doesn’t help. It rarely does, to be honest.
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198841
|
I’m squatting naked over the hand mirror, feet cold on the terrazzo floor, looking at my winking arsehole.
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19881510
|
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198731
|
"Not a fan?" Beth asks, feeling a sliver of happiness move through her. He furrows his brow. "Then what brings you here?"
"I'm here to pick up girls," Steve says simply. "Want to hit the buffet table? Want to run away to Mexico?"
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19872318
|
in my youth I was enamored of the moon—that is to say, lunacyI applauded the bizarre in natureI appropriated the gratuitous from dreamsI drank brashness and frenzy from bookswhat mad things I did!(throwing a bucket of water on the naked couple in the bed)what…
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198700
|
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
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19872916
|
"...they ran shirtless like pagans under southern stars."
|
198788
|
Out the window we could see the parking lot and, across the street, the Bijou Moonlight Laundromat.
|
198731
|
The shark’s voice was dark, warm and scratchy, like dying embers.
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198735
|
My mother and I are close We talk like friends I tell her about people I'm dating She gets excited for me And she asks how it's going When I tell her I think I'm gay She says nothing She does not ask about the woman I am seeing She does not ask how I am doing …
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198785
|
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…
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198775
|
When it rains, I can really think.
|
198675
|
Every time I squished an ant with my finger, I felt a piece of me loosen and chisel off.
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198621
|
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
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198644
|
Some poems slip out easily
Thick and solid
Well-oiled and fully formed
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1986169
|
She was as distant as Mao, someone I never met, but whom everyone carried in their eyes,
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198655
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Crawl to the dark places I love most, loud music and off key laughter, glimmering green and brown bottles eagerly holding the dim lights overhead inside themselves like ransomed stars.
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1986101
|
The punchable faces in Manhattan multiply like cancer...
|
198602
|
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.
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198642
|
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.
|
19862014
|
In the bearded sun, I see a golden goat.
|
198522
|
Sometime that night I heard one; you get so you know when they’re coming in low down the valley or set up high over the coastals and I was sure about it.
|
198577
|
The mountains of humility went silent, / the rain of regency dried its eyes
|
19851311
|
they were open weekends if we needed to bring him in for euthanasia.
|
1985149
|
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.
|
19852315
|
This is the story of the man whose wife lived in his neck. Every morning, he would turn to her and say, "Hello, Sweetheart. How was your night?" and she would answer, Brilliant! What else?
|
1985910
|
Together at last, we'd gotten this far toward the warm end of those sweet Promises we made, once, with our sincerest written and passed down smart Words, done all on our own deeds, with some real gusto, and offered them as Christmas Lights,…
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