1679 10 5
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Rounding a corner, Clarissa wiped out and hit the floor chin-first. She wailed and the dildos skittered away under a display.
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167986
|
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167964
|
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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167976
|
She loved me once. When we were young and the world revolved slowly in our hands. She never said as much, but she did. I knew by the way she moved, the looks, the whispers in the dead of night that carried only to my ears. We spent weeks on that beach in…
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16791412
|
Behind them all, in the background, a tray of vodka tonics waits on a glass table, the limes losing color as they drown.
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1679124
|
It rises rigid and plumb from its heavy base, the severity of line yielding to grace only at the throat where it crests into a subtly constrictive pinch.
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1679132
|
The child closed her eyes again. Outside was sparkling, sharp looking, when she blinked he’d be here, like when she went to sleep and found outside had been whitened with snow. She closed her eyes and opened them, then closed them again. When she opened
|
167894
|
|
16781613
|
Suddenly a hand shot up on the other side of a hedge. “I’ll have one of those!” cried someone who remained invisible.
|
16782410
|
Clayton had a grin like the hand of a beast that stretched as long as her gravel road...
|
167843
|
take back all the falderal
and friggin' fiddle dee dee
take back the mad murmuring
of ten minutes ago
|
167811
|
I. The girl within the sleeping woman dreams her dream of ending. To her comes the cowgirl with no kids: she's riding high atop her turquoise horse, steady by its braided mane. Silver pistols holstered. The girl in the woman in the dream she's dreaming…
|
167844
|
She lets go and it slides back too slowly.
|
167832
|
I want to talk like Rose Tyler, and be whisked away by the strapping Docor, preferably in David Tennant form.
|
167883
|
45s I’ve kept wrapped in newspaper in the attic. These are all mine. Some doubling up in sleeves. Some pushing tears in the seams.
|
16782112
|
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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1678137
|
Eons later, Bobo evolves into Shakespeare. Bonus feature: wings.
|
1678106
|
He is drilling the door of a safe to access the keys he locked inside.
|
167800
|
Once upon a time, not so long ago in Los Angeles, Jack and Jill Woodman’s father remarried.
|
167855
|
“Dear, baby, what do you fear?”
Or maybe it was, “Now here are the keys to the lock.”
|
167733
|
Do you know first hiss of batter hitting groundnut oil in a shallow pan, I ask, on a morning after a long, dream-ridden sleep?
|
167744
|
People were just doing it.
Doing it everywhere. On lawn chairs and stray patio cushions and watching. Watching every one do it.
|
167764
|
|
167776
|
I'm a librarian. A reader. I identify as a four-eyed person. I've always worn glasses. I got my first pair in the second grade. It was a miracle! The blurry world I'd inhabited all my life suddenly came into focus. I could see the blackboard! I could read street signs! I…
|
16771816
|
I can’t take my eyes off a tall blonde with green eyes. I catch her eye.
|
1677168
|
dos equis ambar
sits cool and dark
by my side
|
167795
|
Sundays after Mass, Sister Edburga gathered the team in the shower room, we stripped naked in a circle, held hands and said a prayer we’d win our game. A boy no one knew walked alongside her with a box full of jockstraps.
|
167720
|
This is an older story that was inspired by research on naming conventions while trying to find record of my own ancestors in the Ukraine. I did not find them. Instead I was inspired to write this.
|
167750
|
I like to think of my poetry as fungus, sprouting out of the dank and fertile soil of my imagination.
|
16772218
|
The end will film itself/
in charred, eviscerated bodies
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