3416 7 8
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It’s the unfinished sentences
Of the children on our refrigerators
That worry me the most
It’s the Fake News
It’s all the people
Living in their shopping carts
Without shoes
It’s the abandoned shoe
On the street
And the Abandoned S
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3415 21 21
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Theresa stopped speaking to me because I ate cows. This made things simple. There was no conversation.
|
3414 9 5
|
At 5:12, the river turned silver, as if it were frozen. She traced the river's curves on the window with her finger, wishing it were her.
|
3413 19 12
|
Ricky imagines bending her over his conga, yanking that bushy dark ponytail like reins and ripping into her. He sits, watches, legs crossed, smoking a cigarette. He needs a dancer for the Jezebel number now that Connie is showing. This girl would make a f
|
3412 48 27
|
The story begins ... There were no pigs' huts of straw or stick or stone.
|
3403 2 0
|
I began to imagine the shadows, so rectilinear, were arcing and flowing. I saw shoulders moving, the sinewy upper shoulders of wolves running in a pack. . .
|
3401 12 3
|
The neighbor kids start, we join in–
|
3399 13 11
|
The first one was dark and angular, coiled-looking inside an expensive suit. Over her food at a small table in the hotel bar, Francesca had been unable to look at anything else but him. Out of the suit, unsprung on a king-sized hotel bed, his skin…
|
3397 74 30
|
Amish-like, between the sheets.
|
3395 12 10
|
You wanted to be a writer. Now you’re a writer.
|
3394 0 1
|
over taking the sky before near blindness, a clipping occurs
|
3394 2 2
|
Wonderful When his mother was a little girl, her father would braid her hair until it was exactly right. When she asked him how it looked, he always said,…
|
3392 7 2
|
The screams and howls of other people's children set him on edge. But he struggled to stay cheerful. They had season passes, so the visits there cost nothing and it had consequently become a weekly tradition to go. The children had not, as far as he could
|
3391 7 6
|
Two weeks after All Souls’ Day, he trudges through the overgrown pasture behind the farmhouse, his head bent, intent on his footing, a shovel his walking stick.
|
3389 28 10
|
I talk to her, whispering endearments and flattery. I tell her how incredible it feels to be between her legs.
|
3388 19 13
|
|
3382 8 4
|
A toothy grin greets me at my Public Storage counter. He visits every week. Peering through the wire first, he opens his cage door, gaze lingering. Finally he departs. Nothing ever placed or removed. Emptiness, that looming…
|
3382 11 12
|
I combed the ocean for my minnows while Hattie's giraffes multiplied like spider plants, all yellow and brown on the dry yellow savanna, propelled by their gauche necks, awkward in their bodies, bodies rooted to the feet of the humming planet.
|
3381 23 16
|
Sue Ellen walked on. “You were thinking about me -- I saw you.”
|
3380 52 27
|
The gun is heavy. The tiny women hold it in both hands.
|
3380 12 17
|
Let x equal the moment just after he tells her he's starting a club for people who know something about computers.It is summer, 1984, and this is their grade school playground. She is idling on a swing over a patch of scuffed earth. He stands just off to the side, one…
|
3379 4 2
|
I nicked this from a 12-year-old famine victim living under a bridge in Disneyland.
|
3379 5 4
|
It's not my fault I was made to be stepped on, so stop saying what I am with such contempt. Yes, I'm a doormat. No, I'm not weak. I have taken a hundred kinds of treads, twice as many pounds at once, and once or twice there have been cleats. Think about what those would do…
|
3375 2 2
|
When the great comet passed over, everyone was at my door with pitch forks and rifles with extra long bayonets. Don’t kill it yet; I want to study its habits.
|
3374 33 19
|
A man’s been in jail for six weeks awaiting trial. Lillian doesn’t say his name. A man kidnapped her from the grocery store parking lot. He raped her at his house, and again in the desert, chopped her hand off with an axe and left her for dead in the
|
3369 29 19
|
|
3366 12 7
|
The explosions sound like gunshots. Antonio Gattorno, absorbed in his work, flinches. He curses as he smears the brush across the canvas. He’s been painting since mid-morning. It‘s a hot summer day. Tomorrow is the fourth of July.
|
3364 5 3
|
At James’ funeral, Edward recalled the Brooklyn night in James’ Chevy.
|
3364 26 25
|
You leave your husband and go to the nursery at 2 a.m., painted so cute, go to them, and that’s the only place you want to be, and there’s no chance to leave, or trust they will be okay if you turn your back on them. They won’t. SIDS. Meningitis. A
|
3362 30 8
|
naturally, the windowless ones are the worst.
|