1790 10 10
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Yellow Pages season is on us now, and Jimmy's drivin' a contract route. He'll head out to the San Joaquin where they print, and load ‘em in the back of his Tundra with the high side walls until the whole damned rig sags low,
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179063
|
You took up residence on the dark side of things, a bolthole in a wind-flayed right angle of a tower block where pigeons and suicides tumbled blackly on the air currents. You set about drifting off from who you were on a tide of cheap whisky and bad poetry, graduating…
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17901814
|
Also in development,/
the anatomically perfect robot/
pool boy and naughty maid,
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179053
|
The Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue just came out, and all over America librarians are flipping through its pages and rolling their eyes. The swimsuit issue, which isn't actually about swimwear at all, but, is, instead, about young, beautifully shaped female…
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178988
|
I can confirm nothing/
but impressions of the world//
that appear beyond my/
body’s reach.
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178984
|
Bare feet on hardwood floor
Twists into circles
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178920
|
I remember being sent a picture once from one of my old roommates, Louise, back in Chicago where I came from. The photo was taken when she’d come out for a visit to California. In the picture I am sitting on the front stairs of my house in the Rockridge
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1789147
|
where is the magic at?
the spit
the dirt
or the words?
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178987
|
We want our lives even-cut, …
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178933
|
Susan was twenty-four when it happened again, but she had neither the patience nor the attachment to see it through.
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1789115
|
This weekend was supposed to be about intellect and soul-mating, but, like all others, it's turned into body and longing. You sit in my passenger seat and I let you smoke in my wee car with the windows rolled down. We've come from a wedding, a fairy ring, a…
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1789119
|
He asked me to bury him in Vegas.
Instead, I had him cremated in Trenton.
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17891514
|
I bear the wrong gin. Your air conditioner runs cold. It is either frigid or off, the gauge broken. You are not too old to overlook these things. You can't be choosy, but you will never beg. Just an occasional choice as you settle into this…
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178978
|
of any cautionary tale is somewhere found rolling around in your own sweet voice for me. Your sound's still listing there inside my wobbly head. My head is too often in my open hands, grinning behind its face-mask like a parade on…
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178862
|
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178833
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In a corner of a neighbor’s land too stony to till Cob makes a mystery.
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1788109
|
It was all I was convinced / in designing the encounter.
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178865
|
The bar sounds grew (as bar sounds will) until everything rushed together -- clinking glass, tinkling ice, laughter and zippers going down then up.
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1788123
|
I'm explicating Emily Dickinson when the alarm starts: three long, two short. Lockdown mode. Only there was nothing in the staff bulletin about a drill. So I tell the students to get down on the floor, away from the window. I open the classroom door and lock it from…
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178852
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1788129
|
His knife enters the Maui onion. He minces garlic and applies heat to pan and melts sweet cream butter and browns the garlic first and then he adds the onion and more heat, but it's time that will surely caramelize them. Salt and pepper and splashes of wine for the pan and…
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178821
|
Oh no, here is that Whitman man
I’ve heard he is a bounder.
Don’t look his way or catch his eye-
Just get another round, dear.
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178821
|
The air has its dark confessional, and I have mine. Hot is called raw by some, hate mixed with malice for others. I am only separated by this dark window of time from you, but you never feared the lovely or the lonely.
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17881610
|
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178832
|
There's still a swatch of jelly on his lower lip. Did you notice? That's not the way it's done, even on the tractor.
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178812
|
It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t scary. It wasn’t great. And it never is with people.
Except..eventually..when you meet the right person..it is.
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178855
|
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.
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178784
|
SPOT ON OUR LUNG We sense A stillborn dawn. A furtive, lurking gray, A sleight of dusk, eclipse, that follows Us. TITANIC'S LANTERNS Upon My rain-glazed panes Wet lights from neighbors glow Like lantern beams from shipwrecks…
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178782
|
The Numbers will never romp up the stairs from the laundry room to slip warm socks on your feet on a winter’s night.
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178755
|
How would you like to leave the land of your ancestors, the place of your birth, the home of your identity?
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