1820 9 7
|
we wipe the blood of our progress
from our hands.
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182021
|
Clare sits bolt upright in the hard plastic chair, warily tracking every passer-by. In her lap, Kim’s hair is damp with sweat, dark blonde curls melting against her flushed cheeks. Clare absently strokes the length, soothing both of them.
|
182099
|
For another man she raced through infinite wounds and fists in a monsoon forest. Hands tied to her lover’s for a dance, a roulette of paper cranes exploding across the sky. Cascaded into the sea of black eyelashes.
|
1820188
|
Overnight, I felt drunk, as if headed for hangover, but I hadn't drunk enough to cause it. What caused it? Superstitions dialed in sleep.
|
182066
|
The man and the whore lay in bed together. It was a cold night and they were warmed by the heat beneath the…
|
181911
|
Fingers fan like birds’ wings
cradling the volume,
head hanging low
and lips moving silently...
|
1819124
|
I was more annoyed at the scream, the icy air around us and our eventual destination–his parents, the club, small talk, all that drunken insignia.
|
181963
|
She breezes through the door, cellphone to ear, with the confidence of the affluent. Can you look at my left rear tire, the dashboard indicator says it's low. Back to her phone, Oh, Marsha, hi, how are you, you gorgeous WOMAN, you!? Hey, I'm on my way to…
|
1818136
|
Attached in the center were the petals of a small flower pressed in wax paper. Uncreased, she read it out loud
|
18181611
|
“If 'neighbor' applies to women who covet—'deliriously desire'—husbands from Angers, then one day he'll be your husband's neighbor," I say.
|
181800
|
If you want job security on this planet, you'd better study art.
|
1818133
|
As American as hotdogs and apple pie...
|
181872
|
Of course the man went tumbling, and though he fell not far, a falling with a body full of meats and sweet breads makes the landing something awful-not so bad that Desperate got it-only so the leg puffed like a blue, rain swollen, earth-bound cloud.
|
181778
|
I wake up with the taste of mud in my mouth. Ashy, sulfurous, charred, with traces of rotten shellfish.
|
181700
|
We are the images, the tableau vivant, the one-person shows, the scenes from scattered plays. We wait for the Caretaker who prompts us to play and replay one by one on her rounds.
|
18172616
|
Poets are more like Jesus,/
suffering the cross
|
181710
|
Amyra pressed her hands on the brick wall and rubbed it. She thought about hanging something on there, but she did not have the tools to make a hole. In fact, the thought of having a hole in the wall would be enough.
|
18171410
|
Sid, the owner of the red convertible, always slept with his twin Lhasa Apsos, Helpless and Hopeless. He was an early riser and took his “girls”, as he called them, out for a brief walk, yes, and also he was up early to take his morning penicillin because he…
|
1817149
|
|
181711
|
Here is “Adrien Brody” through a Freudian lens: Calloway wanted to fuck her father. She flew to New York City to fuck a version of her father who has a name similar to an actor with an interesting nose and a lot of talent. Neither Calloway nor the actor n
|
181710
|
"So" he started, which troubled me enough to turn back around and make such focused eye contact that I did not even notice his glass was again full, "you wanted to talk?"
|
1817115
|
He looked straight at her, not to challenge her, but to better gauge what it was she would throw at him. Her eyes always darted to the thing right before her red, swollen fingers snatched at it, like a thing possessed.
|
181642
|
and to adorn my hair I chose every kind of light
|
18162112
|
"the rum tasted of hibiscus blossoms"
|
181684
|
He was ready for the rub. Tense. She could always tell. The legs, the shuffles. He had to be frantic before he would come to her, his own wife. Vanity, fright. She could read him like a book open on the table, turn his pages the way a fish flakes. "It's comfort night,…
|
18162914
|
You say boxer briefs, I say pillbox hats
|
181521
|
But forever is only for dragons, and children need to be touched or they die.
|
181543
|
|
1815119
|
Your precious feet were there once, pressed against the familiar floorboards, where your poems suddenly appeared to you, flashing like lightning. I wonder which window they came in? Here's a thought: you were like that window. You caught…
|
18151712
|
When asked to turn over the Church's riches / he brought before the Roman prefect the poor, blind, ragged and infirm.
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