1786 14 7
|
where is the magic at?
the spit
the dirt
or the words?
|
178687
|
We want our lives even-cut, …
|
1786107
|
She can never say why, but guilt rides her bones
like the spirit. She rubs worry raw.
|
1786115
|
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…
|
178678
|
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…
|
178654
|
|
178566
|
There is a push-up on the ceiling. I don't know how to get it down. I've tried hitting it with a broom. That just made it blow steam. I asked my wife, did you do push-ups on the ceiling? She did. Why? It's easier up there. The cat doesn't bother me. Well, you left…
|
178521
|
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.
|
17851010
|
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,
|
17851814
|
Also in development,/
the anatomically perfect robot/
pool boy and naughty maid,
|
178532
|
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.
|
178553
|
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…
|
178585
|
|
178420
|
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.
|
178431
|
We learned to dance beneath a gazebo / in Spring Lake Park / We were fourteen
|
1784129
|
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…
|
178485
|
It was the first time I had ever seen a possession.
|
178421
|
I look at that wall, it has piss-stain yellow paint and water scars from several years of leaky pipes. I say I wouldn’t mind that, if he took out some of that wall.
|
178412
|
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.
|
17841514
|
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…
|
1784106
|
He is drilling the door of a safe to access the keys he locked inside.
|
178455
|
His people eat soggy casseroles and smile with tight lips.
|
178455
|
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.
|
178384
|
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…
|
178365
|
The bar sounds grew (as bar sounds will) until everything rushed together -- clinking glass, tinkling ice, laughter and zippers going down then up.
|
178352
|
|
17831814
|
Squirrels and mice fear her shadow
|
178321
|
Naomi saw an ad in one of those slick circulars that came in the mail. ' Wigs by Paula."
|
178333
|
Susan was twenty-four when it happened again, but she had neither the patience nor the attachment to see it through.
|
178333
|
Some trick of the morning light makes the tattoo on her ankle look like the burn from a branding iron. She had watched her father as he slept last night. He was handsome and innocent, like a baby boy.
|
