1728 16 15
|
....the first/
in a long history of indignities.
|
17271819
|
Where we live, at the edge of the foothills at the east edge of town, fire is always a worry during the summer, and this has been an exceptionally dry year.
|
172721
|
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.
|
172763
|
I often thought about touching those slippery flames between my thumb and index finger.
|
172721
|
so one time the Holy Ghost come down to Stumptown
|
17272212
|
I liked the taste in my mouth, mint and cigarettes and fresh and filthy.
|
1727147
|
a bird who gives messages
|
172763
|
Her skin is muddy earth/
I'd gladly play in.
|
172622
|
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.
|
172688
|
So she set about eliminating the problem, all the time recalling some newsmagazine program she’d seen as a child: a discussion of hantavirus, nasty and deadly and spread by mice.
|
1726173
|
My swinging purse sent saucers tinkling to the tile and the copper-headed waitress flew over, swooping on the shatter, clutching clean forks like a handful of flowers.
|
172600
|
that is a fair description of our family if I add the disclaimer that the girls are whores and we don’t have much in common.
|
172676
|
There’s not enough cigarette cloud to conceal her, malnourished and pale beneath blue and pink lights that summon 80s-era skate rinks. She saunters towards the center of the stage, asking her bored expression to convey detachment, while a DJ that fits the
|
172642
|
Great Uncle did stunts in silents and shot a man in a cowboy one-reeler, then vanished to the hills like Roy Earle in High Sierra.
|
17251710
|
“What are you doing, Maestro?"
|
17251512
|
Leonard didn't know that cute girl well, hardly at all, but he really wanted to. She was his first real crush in Junior High. He got his chance and talked to her some one day while they were walking down the hall between classes. She actually spoke to him first. The bell…
|
17252217
|
The world is full of dead dogs
|
172574
|
“Lunge to your right,” the woman on the screen instructs. She is easily six-months pregnant but still looks fit and healthy. “Now show off your baby.” She centers herself, splays her arms, and thrusts her belly out towards us. “Lunge to the left. Now show
|
172543
|
I. When my lips mouth yours where they are…
|
172591
|
She was skinny and with breasts like a wound up skein of yarn.
|
17251812
|
There's a man sitting in my room holding a jar of my ashes. That's what he claims.
|
172533
|
When i close my eyesI see the faces of the deadI hear their voices The things they said, their laughter The ones i thought would live forever!! Something got them though: the ones who lived fastIt was a drug, some bullets, a disease I thought they would live forever!!Those…
|
17251510
|
It's so far to get to where we aren't inthe way of someone's destructive progress.I'm only walking in my own gardensnow, but the big blue house is like an emptiedout envelope. I guess that makes this themissing letter. I don't know your heart's newaddress, but I once…
|
172574
|
She said he was missing the whole point: it was a decoration, not an actual pillow. You were supposed to place it somewhere artful.
|
17252214
|
The night we crossed the Madres my father stuffed his Stetson full of cash.
|
172553
|
It's a pretty strange feeling when you think you're about to bite into some ice cream and instead it's gazpacho.
|
1724238
|
To be honest, I've always wanted to be black
|
1724108
|
Time to pull in the shining teeth, but it makes me so sad, you know I'd rather be holding hands. The others have told me, don't hold back, hit them with every white knuckle, and let them bleed out, I'd rather be kissing your face. It hurts,…
|
17241714
|
Tan my hide. Feed me to rabid / macaques.
|
17241110
|
In San Francisco, there rides at night a phantom streetcar whose driver is none other than Walt Whitman . . .
|
