1679 1 1
|
Her thumbs tucked beneath the waistline of her pants, slightly pulling them down to expose the eternity between belly button and bliss. I looked up at her as I slid my tongue along the rail of her hip, sucking at its point.
|
1679 15 12
|
She wears three or four tattered sweaters on cool days. She pushes a basket borrowed from a grocery store. There is a plastic lawn bag in the basket with God knows what inside.
|
1679 13 9
|
|
1679 1 1
|
Perhaps a blue person is more alive underneath than a red. Red is eye-catching and flashy, but blue is substantial, secretive. Of course, blood is red, and there’s nothing more substantial than blood, but we’re on blue at the moment, and the thought
|
1679 2 0
|
The cabin has windows all around, like ribbon tying a birthday present.
|
1679 2 1
|
I kept a journal
for so many years
I've forgotten
everything I wrote.
|
1679 1 1
|
The closed door swallowed up both voices, and all I could make out afterward were muffled pleas and angry answers that died completely.
|
1679 14 5
|
She's the one you remember when there's talk of the blow.
|
1679 4 1
|
Butchie was the one who heard about the bonfire happening over on Harrison Avenue.
|
1678 25 17
|
|
1678 2 2
|
mr cummings sounded too formal for a man who didn’t use capital letters. As she climbed the four flights of stairs to the flat, she sang to herself, “I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart).”
|
1678 2 0
|
a store called ROCKING FROCKS. In its window was a black tee shirt that said in big white letters, I'M NOT A SLUT, I'M WITH THE BAND.
|
1678 13 10
|
Why is there a heavy weight and a chain and a padlock in her woodstove? Because, she says to herself, slightly hysterically, because this is yet another thing that you must carry. Why? Because life is full of chains and padlocks and heavy weights. Hea
|
1678 7 7
|
How much do book editors earn? Peacock Love. (aww…)
|
1678 5 3
|
Another Saturday in April. Another set of scars.
|
1678 14 8
|
When Kat returned home from The East Street Wars, she learned that her epileptic lover, White Dog, died from madness
|
1678 1 0
|
"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?"
|
1678 5 5
|
Alessandro was no ordinary demon (what demon is?), insofar as he had Constable Pulce's number. In demonly fashion he had Pulce's number in a way Pulce himself did not.
|
1677 5 5
|
These are the small miracles we witness from my barrio stoop.
|
1677 17 9
|
He deplaned Air France flight 9 from JFK to Charles de Gaulle airport at quarter past noon.
|
1677 12 7
|
The calls come in a few times a week. When the unknown someone calls Safety Now, Radon Testing and Elimination Headquarters, Mrs. R. wonders who it is that just sits silently on the other end of the line. She wants to say, "Look, if you're a bill colle
|
1677 10 3
|
Melinda said forget the kegger last night, what we’re about to do will help you figure out whether you want to apply here.
|
1677 11 9
|
He asked me to bury him in Vegas.
Instead, I had him cremated in Trenton.
|
1677 8 2
|
It was so hot we walked out on our husbands. There were reasons, we supposed. They left the refrigerator doors open all day, grabbing beers when they passed by, tossing the sticky caps upon counters. They drove their Metropolitans to buy food, leaving th
|
1677 15 9
|
fat furry marmots who play hide and seek
|
1676 7 6
|
He hasn't had a wedding ring in years. When George's knuckles began to swell — a little arthritis — his ring dug into his finger so bad his wife Loren took him to the ER and had it cut off. The ring, not the finger. He never knew there was a tool to cut rings,…
|
1676 17 6
|
The Viper turns so quickly that Father's grabbing hand now faces its head instead of its tail.
|
1676 2 0
|
I love reading about myself. There's nothing more gratifying than seeing my name in the paper, knowing so many people are interested in who I am and what I do.
|
1676 11 9
|
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…
|
1676 7 4
|
Things aren't going to get better are they? Would you like a sugar cube? No. Are you sure? I put acid on it. Oh, well yes, I guess then. Cool. Things might get better for a little bit then. Or horribly worse. Ha. Awesome. They taste like an orgasm…
|