1843 10 1
|
I told you that I have homicidal urges that alternate with ones of the suicidal kind. You flicked an imaginary speck of dust from your fat, fleshy forefinger with your ultra-flexible, wimpy thumb.
|
18432212
|
I liked the taste in my mouth, mint and cigarettes and fresh and filthy.
|
1843128
|
The people with the lucky faces Are always sneaking out more credit For everything than they deserve. Maybe They are right, maybe it's our fault For buying into the myths of the Land of mirrors. The people with the Lucky faces haven't…
|
1843125
|
The heavyset blind woman came into the art opening without a dog or a cane.
|
184322
|
In principle, Sergeant Brock Lumley resisted superstition, but if you were to stop him on any given day he was patrolling Baghdad streets with his rifle squad and ask him to open the front left ammo pouch on his flak vest, he’d get this look on his face..
|
1843217
|
55 words, slightly naughty
|
1842122
|
i miss you/
at times unbearably/
a dull ache that won’t quit
|
184264
|
Copernicus spied/a new centrifugal spin:/Bosch saw what he meant.
|
184244
|
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
|
184200
|
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
|
18421110
|
i never much liked Elvis
never did then never do now
he was no Kris Kristofferson
|
184251
|
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…
|
184132
|
The smell of candy and burn... /A patriotic prose poem for the fourth of July.
|
184132
|
Knocked off around noon, drank some retsina, checked Olympics results. Can’t find Medea’s motivation. Why would she kill her kids?
|
184166
|
But the best thing about Rebekah
was the way she floated always
beneath the scent of woodburn
and dusty Middle America,
|
1841159
|
Love free of independence is a savage, hungry beast
Phantoms grasping, sweating, gasping 'till her mind could not be freed
|
184100
|
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…
|
184121
|
Mower hits a rock and the blades scream.
|
18411312
|
|
184112
|
|
1840127
|
Emma and I were in a shabby part of town with vacant lots and overgrown yards, and I wondered if something would happen as we loped beside Tom, who was slow-witted and 21. We were 13 . . .
|
184085
|
|
184081
|
She had a strange name which I am ashamed/
To have forgotten, seven times, maybe nine,/
Her lips transgressors, wet with sourapple ...
|
184083
|
I was making good bread as a New York studio musician and jingle writer, anonymous back-room jobs.
|
184083
|
I walked on hot coals. She got ahead of me. (228 words)
|
184041
|
My motivation as a filmmaker for traveling to Japan was economic and opportunistic. American military occupation had accelerated westernization and, when Japan regained its sovereignty in 1952, their economy was rapidly expanding. Led by manufacturing and export of items…
|
184000
|
". . . with the impact of a 18-wheeler jack-knifed into a Mini-Cooper as it hits the surface."
|
184031
|
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…
|
1840148
|
you may meet the man of your dreams.
|
18401211
|
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…
|
