1842 0 0
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The Sentinels all played for a while. They helped Reya swim in the deeper side of the pool. They even had a diving competition to see who could make a bigger splash.
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184240
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I don’t know what to make of this new territory we have stumbled into neither by accident, it seems, or design. Is there a map to be found?
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184183
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love notes yellowed through the years
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184132
|
Knocked off around noon, drank some retsina, checked Olympics results. Can’t find Medea’s motivation. Why would she kill her kids?
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1841159
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Love free of independence is a savage, hungry beast
Phantoms grasping, sweating, gasping 'till her mind could not be freed
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184132
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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…
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184144
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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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184100
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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
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18411110
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i never much liked Elvis
never did then never do now
he was no Kris Kristofferson
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18412112
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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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1840127
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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 . . .
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184032
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The smell of candy and burn... /A patriotic prose poem for the fourth of July.
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184085
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184051
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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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184035
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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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18402212
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I liked the taste in my mouth, mint and cigarettes and fresh and filthy.
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184021
|
Mower hits a rock and the blades scream.
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184051
|
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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184031
|
The orchid trembled on its long stem
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183966
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But the best thing about Rebekah
was the way she floated always
beneath the scent of woodburn
and dusty Middle America,
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183981
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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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183900
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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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183900
|
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…
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18391312
|
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183989
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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 …
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183900
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you choose to be mine
when you take hold of my hand -
silently, i'm yours
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183996
|
That Bronte woman had me painted like Eminem’s Stan
Or a droog from Kubrick
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183912
|
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183830
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You wake up. Slowly but surely. Okay, you're in the bookshop. Yes, apparently this is where you slept, on the floor, with absolutely no sense of irony, in the romantic fiction section...
|
183883
|
I was making good bread as a New York studio musician and jingle writer, anonymous back-room jobs.
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