1694 3 1
|
I took it in my hands and used it on my lips. The taste was just hers: her touch, her smell, her breath in the winter nights. She was in this. Everything we had was in this tube.
|
1694128
|
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16941410
|
She wouldn't have been the first.
|
16941814
|
We are infused with fear and dread/
of the world we won’t engage/
except through flat screens and remotes,
|
169497
|
we wipe the blood of our progress
from our hands.
|
1694115
|
Marge came home with a Doors CD.
|
169400
|
If you want job security on this planet, you'd better study art.
|
169410
|
[CAUTION: TO PREVENT ELECTRIC SHOCK, DO NOT REMOVE COVER. NO USER-SERVICEABLE PARTS INSIDE. REFER SERVICE TO QUALIFIED SERVICE PERSONNEL.]
|
169351
|
When Bill was in the hospital, one month bleeding into the next, his mother visited exactly twice, both times complaining of the things she needed or couldn’t get rid of: mop heads, bleach, dustpans, detergents, grease, turgid water in the basement. And
|
16931211
|
Maybe, after years of writing poems like letters, he began to notice that no one ever wrote him back.
|
169343
|
#spotify / Elevators / Sky Burial Monologue
|
169330
|
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:
|
1693124
|
I look for the boy we met inside the club, the one who claimed he loved playing with matches, setting fire to churches. I spot him smoking a cigarette, standing so cool against the side of the club, like he might be the nephew of some Viking guitarist hun
|
169300
|
Vito stood before the mirror combing his dark, freshly-cut hair. He trimmed his thick mustache, then buttoned his black vest. He liked its tight fit against his muscular torso. He had difficulty fastening the top button of his white shirt, the collar tigh
|
16931510
|
I tell my woman friend the new man's penis is too large. I tell her once. She asks me later whether I asked about it at the doctor's—large cock, she calls it, and I say I told the doctor my boyfriend's in a wheelchair.
|
16931715
|
I loved to visit my grandparents when I was a kid.
|
16932913
|
Cinnamon and smoke
infuse the days that shorten,
chill, accelerate.
|
169342
|
They leaned against the hood of his pickup, which sat heavy on its wheels, the back of it filled with the things that he’d held out of the yard sale three days earlier.
“When’re you leaving?” she asked.
“Early. Get on down the road. Shut ’er down ea
|
169352
|
Some books are like old friends and when you read them, you no longer feel alone.
|
1693105
|
I tell my doc I’m special, 1 in 1,000,000 special: unhitched, pushing 44, and knocked up. "Call Guinness," I joke, and fake jab his right arm. He puts his two hands over mine, smiles gently, like a father.
|
169211
|
A famous author and an inspired writer meet at a coffee shop, both looking for inspiration. The patrons there don’t know if this meeting is by accident or design, but they are in awe of Fame.
|
169233
|
Things are a little out of hand. Information fills room after room after room. I have no bloody idea where I am. I have your photo, but the navigational coordinates are difficult to interpret. Where the hell are you, anyway? I don't like mazes — too much like…
|
1692139
|
Like many little towns, ours has an archive. It is a catalog of everything that happens.
|
169211
|
He introduced himself as Jimmy Stamps and shook my hand with the confidence of a man who is Microsoft Windows certified. Reeking of vodka and Swisher Sweets he proceeded to expatiate on the virtues of X
|
169110
|
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…
|
169155
|
I don't see why you didn’t get a dozen while you were at it.
|
16911612
|
So I went to see the wrinkled
and rumpled poet, who insisted
on reading from memory, stumbling
through his sheaf of poems.
|
169175
|
I was Orson Welles skulking in the shadows and you Alida Valli;
our time measured like footsteps advancing on Gethsemane.
|
169185
|
And because the film is French, the camera pauses / long moments at the curve of her neck, it watches/ her finger vermilion tulips in a vase. Her new lover,/ a wisp of a man, looks good in leather./ The camera pans quickly across beige suede,/ rests long
|
169176
|
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