1820 20 8
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Phoebe-Lou Adams wrote this of them
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182022
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The rain fell from the roof. It fell from my voice and and my eyes. Toshiro's Kukichiro stomped gutshot through the mud with his katana. Young and beautiful, Mifumi died there on the screen though he doesn't really die for fifty or more years, they think from something…
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181972
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"My dear man. We are not friends we are symbiotic."
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181921
|
She stepped into a pair of high heeled slippers and began to dance. She was Salome, a witch, dancing like the most beautiful, the most skilled whores of Paris.
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181921
|
She persisted. “How long have we been here?”
A note of anger crept into his voice. “How long? How long? Why …, why ….” He swallowed hard, realized he had forgotten.
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181911
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Steve Bancroft’s future wife showed up at his door that same night, slamming her hand loudly against the door and shouting for him. “Steve, Steve, wake up. Damn it, come on. You forgot to pick me up at the airport. Who are you in there with? I said wa
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1819108
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nothing can stop a group of genteel Southern women from a card game, and divine intervention makes one's participation in such an event quite worthwhile
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18191411
|
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181962
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They stood at the intersection waiting for the light to change so they could cross the highway.
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181900
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Lighter-than-air flight was back. The skies of the coast were alight with colorful balloons, dirigibles, and zeppelins tethered to their docking towers along the beach, the huge aircraft bobbing in the breeze up and down the coast for miles,…
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181800
|
—with spinster goddesses in the middle of things / circling looms.
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181865
|
This is Jorge. He was a good little monkey. And always curious.Like the time he and his friend, the man in the amarillo sombrero, had to fly to Japan. *Jorge sat by the window. Watched the ground get further away. Until they were above the clouds. He looked out…
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18181819
|
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1818189
|
feathered waves of tangerine peach
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181882
|
My piano tutor, a walnut-faced shrew, rapped my knuckles with her small plastic baton to smack them back into the proper tempo, an adagio I’d mastered weeks before. One hour until the audition and damn if this woman didn’t break the skin of two of my fing
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181721
|
He’d been wishing for months that he’d bought a retro clothing store. He would have called it HARRY’S HOARY HOSERRY. He would have met a better class of women.
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18171710
|
“What are you doing, Maestro?"
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181722
|
Her face had that strange preserved quality Maybelle saw in many aging Boomer women — like an old toy never removed from its packaging.
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181711
|
Once, when I had not talked to you in a long time, I woke with your name in my mouth.
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181752
|
And the voodoo pins pinged as, folding and imploding, she was reduced to a petro-chemical puddle.
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1817109
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The tiny green light flashing in the lawn of an apartment building one night that caught Roberta’s attention while we were walking home from Café Vita.
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18171615
|
When I died, she said, she was going to have me cremated and put my ashes in the cats’ litter box.
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181700
|
Incredibly he began to picture in his mind a scene not related at all to his frenzied search but of a huge plate of apple pie a la mode with the vanilla ice cream melting in streams like cool lava down the side of the pie and off of the plate.
|
181710
|
I saw the little family that lives
under the neighbor's backyard deck
two weeks before while decapitating grasslets
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18161315
|
Somewhere a banjo, somewhere a hound.
|
181652
|
“It’s about basic working conditions!” she says, rubbing ice cubes on her nipples.
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18161310
|
the ugliness will not be denied
|
181610
|
“What I really want to know is, why is a straight guy called Caspar opening a lesbian leather bar in Berlin anyway?” Shona asked. “Schöneberg must really be going to the dogs.”
|
181600
|
One day me an' Elvis was down at the riverbank with Huckleberry, chasin' darters an' watchin' barges go by. It was a lazy day bein' a Sunday an' all. We had jest got back from Church an' Mami told me to change my clothes so's that I didn't get my Sunday
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18161514
|
it was your hands—caked
with years-old clay & quaking
from too much solitude
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