1668 10 3
|
“No one likes an indecisive sexual partner.”
|
166886
|
|
166898
|
I spot another fat lady in another part of the store, and I slap her butt, too. She tells me I'm a bad boy.
|
16682913
|
Cinnamon and smoke
infuse the days that shorten,
chill, accelerate.
|
1668136
|
The three were up early to await the deer with rifles, ammunition, and coffee.
|
166741
|
Wives, without exception, have birthdays,
which if forgotten, are much-less-than-mirth days.
|
166776
|
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…
|
166743
|
There is nothing so obscure it is not enhanced by talking, nothing so dull it cannot be coaxed into brilliance, nothing so deep it cannot be dug from an abyss and brought to the surface in paroxysms of red.
|
1667122
|
i miss you/
at times unbearably/
a dull ache that won’t quit
|
166700
|
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.
|
1667136
|
Men aren't good at these kinds of things, my mother tells me. She states it as if it is a scientific fact.
|
1667206
|
She lifts her head, nose heavenward. There’s a wet spot on my dress from our lovemaking, its aroma as heady as Claudine’s bouillabaisse. I hope she smells it.
|
166730
|
I was a Cub Scout, and the face of God was a joke that was told to my little pack. The joke went as thus:
|
166783
|
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.
|
166773
|
Note to self: look up Bobby Sands.
|
16671412
|
Behind them all, in the background, a tray of vodka tonics waits on a glass table, the limes losing color as they drown.
|
166721
|
It will only be minutes before I can slip out of this shelter, but time has suspended itself like a web over the sky. I look up and see a break in the clouds moving north from the furthest tip of Lake Erie. Rain turns to drizzle, other guests arrive toget
|
1666164
|
He ran his forefinger round the rim of the lid then sucked at his fingertip. The texture's like chalk, he thought, it tastes of earth. He hadn't anticipated this — but dipped his finger in again and swallowed. It was like scraping his tongue against a blackboard on…
|
166676
|
Alexander Ivanovich stuck out his leg and tripped Daniil Ivanovich Yuvachev. Daniil Ivanovich Yuvachev stood up, took two steps forward, stuck out his leg and tripped Alexander Ivanovich.
|
166675
|
I was Orson Welles skulking in the shadows and you Alida Valli;
our time measured like footsteps advancing on Gethsemane.
|
1666139
|
|
166687
|
I usually idle by Spades Check Cashing on 8th Ave. and catch folks that way. The Homestead cops, they moved stations from a little up Amity to down on 7th, which is closer to Spades, but they leave me alone. I've drove jitneys almost ten years. Only been cited twice,…
|
166621
|
"How could anyone say that I was wrong, that I was crazy?" These thoughts scraped across her mind and tore open the reasons she had knitted herself into over the years.
|
166697
|
we wipe the blood of our progress
from our hands.
|
1666108
|
nothing can stop a group of genteel Southern women from a card game, and divine intervention makes one's participation in such an event quite worthwhile
|
166611
|
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…
|
16662914
|
You say boxer briefs, I say pillbox hats
|
16661813
|
My uncle looks into the bleached eye of his cat and asks
"What happened to my ear?"
The meerkat’s eye replies:
"You had cancer. Remember?
They had to cut off your ear to save you."
|
16661915
|
|
1666119
|
What if I never feel like a real artist? What does it even mean to be a "real" artist? What if nobody ever cares about what I make?
|
