1834 3 2
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The smell of candy and burn... /A patriotic prose poem for the fourth of July.
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1834106
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Now that I no longer sleep to see you,
propelled by this motion that is not magic
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183481
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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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18341713
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and the mass exceeds the buoyancy/
and gravity pulls you back,
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183400
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183433
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“Turn the fucking thing off!” I yelled above the noise. “It’s fucking New Year’s morning!”
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183444
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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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183464
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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.
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18342112
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It is a well-known fact that my wife sleeps around. There. I said it and now everyone knows that I too know about my wife. Let me just tell you this one thing; she has her reasons. You ask me how I know that she has her reasons, but who would know better than…
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183451
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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…
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18342119
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I once read a book of warnings.
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18331613
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Suddenly a hand shot up on the other side of a hedge. “I’ll have one of those!” cried someone who remained invisible.
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1833122
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i miss you/
at times unbearably/
a dull ache that won’t quit
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183385
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183351
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‘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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1833101
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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.
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18331211
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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…
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1833135
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The Fuddy-Duddy Writer does not do wit.
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183300
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you choose to be mine
when you take hold of my hand -
silently, i'm yours
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183310
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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
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18332118
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After the funeral there was a luncheon in the church basement.
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183254
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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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183200
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". . . with the impact of a 18-wheeler jack-knifed into a Mini-Cooper as it hits the surface."
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183282
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Looking for meaning in spaces between words.
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183220
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She suggested just moving in together. A lot less constrained by convention she, on occasion, did not wear a bra.
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1832148
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You always complained that Christmas/
ruined your birthday/
sister.
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183230
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Shannon refused to jump from the castle drawbridge to the gigantic truck tire sunk halfway down in the playground quicksand. He just stood there-arms folded across his chest, bony knees sticking out from beneath ratty cutoffs-in silence, looking to Rollie
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1831159
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“Phennias Jessup is his name. That’s his death’s head scroll, an hourglass, bats, spirals and angel’s wings on either side of the top part of the stone. "
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1831138
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I’m aware I will never be a woman the night you leave me for another city
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183183
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I was making good bread as a New York studio musician and jingle writer, anonymous back-room jobs.
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