1833 9 6
|
He has no plan, he needs a plan, he has no plan, he needs a plan -- the two thoughts bounce around inside his skull like racquet balls.
|
1833106
|
|
183310
|
"I read a cute animal story yesterday," I tell them. "And I was filled with rage. I can't live like this. There must be no more bears, or hamster-bears, or manatees, being hopeless and depressed. There must be no more cute animal stories—ever."
|
1833108
|
"What mouths could not say, hands did."
|
183310
|
My best friend Khaled’s idea was, he’d set up a pool tournament. Nine-ball. Each church would send a player, and whichever church won, he’d join. Any church that wouldn’t shoot pool, he wouldn’t want to join.
|
1833124
|
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.
|
183398
|
We know a poem isn't going to stop you From invading our town. It won't get you to Listen to our birds any more than to our Sunsets. That's not why we do it. We know A poem isn't going to break the blade of Your knife like an…
|
183200
|
stoplight - (haiku love series - #2)
eyes lock in a gaze
glimpses of my future spark
then you walk away
|
1832119
|
Librarians are hiding something. What is it?
|
183232
|
My server wore cat's eye glasses, a Wonderbra that made her breasts like the embryos from Alien wanting to burst their way out of her Hooters t-shirt but couldn't.
|
183222
|
Her wrinkles came into focus, the sort of old woman's face photographed for coffee tables and art galleries and corporate boardrooms, for prize juries and grant selection committees, and Luc searched his formidable memory for an exact match. Over the long, tedious…
|
183240
|
“Hey,” I begin, a naughty smile breaking across my face before I can get to the punchline, “Want to drive around flipping off anyone with a Romney bumper sticker?”
Kaleb chuckles and beams at me. It seems everyone likes a good girl turned naughty.
|
183286
|
The old man behind the counter recognizes fear and anxiety in the boy's face, and sees the brown paper bag clenched in his other white-knuckled hand.
|
183289
|
was washing her hands and lookingin the mirror and hoping tosee someone who could tell herthe way home again. She wasn'tsure why she should want to go there except maybe to findthe missing piece that had alwayseluded her. The lonely genius puton her clothes but the…
|
183223
|
But they all know the parking prayer...
|
183276
|
A year after we'd last spoken I can still remember your commentary, our ill-fated reunion at the baggage claim forever immortalized as this solitary instance of unobstructed joy.
|
183253
|
He never bothered converting the tip money he pocketed at the Imperial Street 24 hour car wash as his world was replete with 25 cent transactions, making quarters the perfect coin for his realm.
|
183133
|
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?
|
183194
|
|
183100
|
She pulls out of love, while you sit upon the rumble seat, a granted is taken for every crack of the whip. She pulls out of fear. She pulls.
|
183197
|
master carvers do not reduce with carving.
|
183150
|
About 10 years ago is when it started. I was 14, sitting at Pop's knee, listening to his stories, and Mom came in crying. She could hardly get words out.
I think that day was the last time I felt the sun.
|
183122
|
When the sky was thinner and water faster, we would chase the falling stars.
|
183186
|
“No,” he says. A simple lie. “I -” He pushes the sleeping bag off of his legs. Their getaway reset was a mistake.
|
183130
|
It started (or maybe ended) with the boot flying off the balcony and bouncing in the dead grass in front of our building.
|
1831178
|
"Your mother does sailors," the parrot screeched.
|
18311412
|
I sought to feel something. I hunted my mortality. I craved that rush of life pulsating through my veins.
|
183141
|
The DC-9 bounced in the turbulence over the north Pacific waking the dozing Ben Clarone.
|
18311812
|
|
183000
|
I ought to see, in Mr. Smith's dilated pupils, the projection of his last reverie.
|
