1836 5 4
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Jerrod's lips and tongue were like slabs of bologna someone shook in Kirsten’s face as she hit the turn signal.
Kirsten was proud of herself. She'd been taking it well and she was pretty sure her real feelings weren’t poking through.
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183685
|
|
183681
|
She had a strange name which I am ashamed/
To have forgotten, seven times, maybe nine,/
Her lips transgressors, wet with sourapple ...
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183633
|
“Turn the fucking thing off!” I yelled above the noise. “It’s fucking New Year’s morning!”
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18361213
|
The moonlight news is brutal
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183644
|
She has a mercenary way of doing business and she's pretty shrewd. I make her stand outside to smoke her cigarette. I stay inside watching her stance as she violently tugs at the barrel, tearing every ounce of smoke out of it, then stamping it out as I wo
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183621
|
Mower hits a rock and the blades scream.
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183600
|
7
We sat in Darrell's truck in the deserted silent world of the down-trodden industrial area of West Berkeley, where no one in his right mind went at five in the morning. "Put the gun away, Darrell," I said. "I mean it."
"I can't help but keep
|
1835106
|
Now that I no longer sleep to see you,
propelled by this motion that is not magic
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1835122
|
i miss you/
at times unbearably/
a dull ache that won’t quit
|
183551
|
‘Oh, and try these. ' She handed me a plastic baggy full of seeds that resembled watermelon seeds, only smaller. ‘If these don't work your problem runs deeper...'
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183535
|
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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183564
|
Raymond Carver used to write poetry in his car. /
Tonight, I tried it too. /
I have a car like Raymond Carver /
but cannot write poetry like Raymond Carver. /
The car isn’t enough.
|
183589
|
I worry about my garden. I know there are larger concerns lurking in the stale shadows than my limp little flowers, things more pressing to the meeting of minds than thick lush green leaves might bring, but this is my own greenish way of …
|
18352119
|
I once read a book of warnings.
|
1835148
|
You always complained that Christmas/
ruined your birthday/
sister.
|
183432
|
The smell of candy and burn... /A patriotic prose poem for the fourth of July.
|
18341713
|
and the mass exceeds the buoyancy/
and gravity pulls you back,
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18341211
|
I am sitting on our porch in the middle of the night. I can't sleep. The stars look like runway lights. Out of boredom, I reach out my hand to connect the distant dots. The tip of my finger hits…
|
183451
|
Two fine-young-things scan the menu board of In-N-Out Burger off Interstate 101. Dressed like twins -- hoop earrings, tank-tops and mini-skirts, ballet pumps — you could hardly tell them apart, except for their Cleopatra and Marilyn Manson hairstyles. As they…
|
183410
|
And so the man-faced boy grew alone, knowing little of kindness and love. As he grew, he explored the limits of his cold world; crawling in dusty nappies, toddling in hand-me-down rags, at last walking on worn sandals, haunting the edges of human life loo
|
18342118
|
After the funeral there was a luncheon in the church basement.
|
183412
|
|
1833118
|
But it all works out. I guess. Truth is something I'm sure I've never seen before, but the more time goes on, the Less I'm inclined to believe in it. Still I don't want To be one of those giving the finger to God And begging for a showdown with an…
|
1833147
|
I knew it was just a matter of time...
|
183332
|
Teaching never occurred to me in college. I took workshops and wrote often. Friends and classmates, meanwhile, switched from studio majors to Art Education, or from English to Certification. Not me. Teaching high-schoolers would be all wrong. Briefly, I…
|
183331
|
I can only see their eyes in the dark, reflected in the light from my flashlight. It's so quiet. I only hear the sound of my own breath. I hold the flashlight steady. Maybe they will think I'm not a threat if I'm not moving. It's a small hope. Yet here we are, at a…
|
183300
|
June Day sprinted with urgency through the halls of the Armistice. Whenever she passed a window looking out into space, if it wasn't already covered, she didn't bother looking out, but not because of her hurry; no one did anymore. She was young, but the…
|
183311
|
Of all the things Shelly hated about her job, the music was the worst.
|
183320
|
She suggested just moving in together. A lot less constrained by convention she, on occasion, did not wear a bra.
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