1776 12 9
|
My man wears chartreuse shoes.!
He wears chartreuse shoes like a new king
right there on Main St.!
|
1775106
|
Now that I no longer sleep to see you,
propelled by this motion that is not magic
|
177577
|
My face turns to promise more, but my insides are browning.
|
1775119
|
Librarians are hiding something. What is it?
|
17751612
|
So I went to see the wrinkled
and rumpled poet, who insisted
on reading from memory, stumbling
through his sheaf of poems.
|
177550
|
On Saturday nights, they dream of you. You are the gas station they can’t own, the lottery they can’t win. You are beating up their boss, giving him a headache that will last through Wednesday morning, keep him home half the week.
|
177520
|
Just thinking aloud, really. And by aloud, I mean typing for someone to read haha.
|
177586
|
“No,” he says. A simple lie. “I -” He pushes the sleeping bag off of his legs. Their getaway reset was a mistake.
|
177533
|
My love for him like wax wings/
so long they stretched eternal—
beating in the sky, grazing peaks,
|
177532
|
He kept the lawn mowed at the perfect height. He mowed it twice a week to one inch. Some weeks he mowed it a third time for good measure.
|
1775105
|
Half way through our cigarettes she told me her name was Charlotte.
|
1775119
|
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?
|
17751812
|
|
177410
|
This is about a mescaline trip that went wrong. It happened back in the '60s and I know, the '60s have been done quite to death and nobody ever gets the trip right but--you'll like this one. Joey and…
|
177463
|
She shoved a small bottle under her aprons and came towards me, darkening the passageway from “Ancestor” by Thomas Kinsella The night I heard the Banshee she passed away. In my screaming fear dada and mama woke. …
|
1774107
|
turn my Dorothy Hamill into a golden shadow
|
177486
|
|
177442
|
She catches my head in a leg scissors and says for me to say Ninja Uncle. Instead, I bite into her flesh that only remotely tastes like a soft salt pretzel.
|
177431
|
It’s me walking in on you shooting up in the diner’s cesspool of a
shitter, and you trying to conceal the evidence while you’re telling
me it’s straight up your first time.
|
1773149
|
“Mommy,” the voice was thin as a fledgling's. “I'm here, baby,” I said. An arm rose from the pavement and small fingers wound themselves into my…
|
177376
|
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…
|
17731514
|
You need buttered broths and to
copy old writings by hand by
very poor light.
|
177396
|
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.
|
17731111
|
This is the place I could find my breath. I didn'tSay I understood it. I only wanted to hold someone andMeant to. I don't care about the rules for caring.This place where I could speak was incredibly far from Where I'd once met you. The place where I could…
|
177341
|
Steam rolls out of the bathroom as Mr. Larson opens the door with a white towel around his waist. Pepper strolls up to him and purrs as she rubs her long, gray tail against his tanned legs."Hey, girl.” He runs his coarse, scarred fingers through the cat's soft coat.…
|
1773148
|
She walks ahead, dropping matches as she goes. Grassland is consumed by flames and when I arrive all is wasted.
|
177300
|
When I think about love, I actually think about life. And when I think about that, I wonder if we’re really who we used to be.
|
17731515
|
I dreamt I was spinning down the coast in a convertible. It was warm, and the top was down.
|
177321
|
It wasn't that I couldn’t imagine it. Rather, I could almost conjure the choreography to mind. One of his hands would graze at the side of my face. One finger would extend and stroke me, from my temples to my chin. He would press my body against something
|
177300
|
Unadorned tragedies pinpoint the worst angles of the road; simple crosses or bouquets line boulders painted with car crash smoke or skid marks that tiptoe to the edge of cliffs and then, apparently, leap.
|
