1822 11 2
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...and he would stumble from bed in a panic and fling the toothbrush at the mirror cursing all the while "fuck fuck why can't I forget her".
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182232
|
The man who plays his flute every day under the archway near Powell station is not very good. He never plays a real tune, just a series of random notes. There is no rhythm or melody either. In fact, it's not even a flute he…
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1822149
|
Maybe tonight, maybe next week,/
maybe only in my waking dreams,/
I’ll teach another lesson-
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18221814
|
Squirrels and mice fear her shadow
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1822127
|
“If they look that good in shorts.” I warned him once, in a candid, humorous moment, “Then they’re probably too young for you to look at.”
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182274
|
“Americans like beer, right?” he asks. “It’s not acceptable for a woman to buy beer.” He proffers it in a brown paper bag.
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18221513
|
We lived on the edge of a tiny Iowa town, and picked corn fields were steps away.
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1822135
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The javelin was cancelled after the unfortunate incident with Mrs Parker last year, but no one could have predicted this year’s sack race tragedy.
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1821164
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He ran his forefinger round the rim of the lid then sucked at his fingertip. The texture's like chalk, he thought, it tastes of earth. He hadn't anticipated this — but dipped his finger in again and swallowed. It was like scraping his tongue against a blackboard on…
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182184
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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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182141
|
On the way home, “Friendly honk,” he said.
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182133
|
The Karaoke Girls are not appreciated. Not nearly enough and not often enough.
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182132
|
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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182185
|
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1820129
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If you find the place they forgot to bomb send me a hot pink postcard. The planet is only so big. We're already dipping our heels into the waters without wanting to become true believers, miserable followers. The bedtime stories will have to…
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182000
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Under the dirty orange glow of sodium streetlights, the glistening pavement looks slick, but it’s only just wet. The mid-November temperature is cool—quite mild, actually, for this late time of year—still hovering in the upper 30s—so far posing only the
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18201211
|
Cellulite is legal to have, either way.
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182071
|
Space, blank, uninterrupted, but then a fissure, a crack, a corridor, and down it you're walking.
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182010
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The Jester sat down on the edge of his mattress. He laboured to bring one gout ridden leg up to lay across the other. The jingle bell at the tip of his pointed toe mocked each serrated movement of his limb with a jaunty tinkle. He grabbed his ankle to arrest its…
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18201916
|
Try it with and without/
middle name or middle initial.//
Try different keywords.
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182031
|
U-R, UltraReads is my new concept, an experiment designed to suit contemporary need and taste. The handy tablet-size reads can be easily done from your phone anytime, anywhere in the world. Each one comes together with a visual to make the reading experience more…
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182033
|
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.
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182011
|
This seems to be what happens to the Corporate Zombie Cowboys. They get eaten by their own Zombie Kings.
The hardest part is I can see them coming, I am on the menu, and I cannot avoid them.
|
1819108
|
Nothing good comes from being lowered into a well to take a photograph, boy
|
181970
|
Whenever Mommy was gone, Josh Forcett's father made him eat staples, often by the spoonful.
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1819106
|
“Ol’ Betty has a nice set of headlights,” he says with a wink as he springs out of the recliner.
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18191110
|
Someone will labor to keep it alive/
although the body will want but/
to return to random particles
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181811
|
He thought the scarab was bad luck. I knew too little about omens to argue.
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181832
|
Beautiful kids in sunglasses dashed around as colourful as jars of mixed fruit in the warm air of a midsummer’s night drinking on the riverbank, the bar sheltered under a crusty wooden shack, the sight was stunning in the twilight before the sun rose.
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181841
|
My ride, my good friend Morning was due any minute, but of course, he/she was always late. My costume was a dog. I was stuck to another dog, in the act of passion. A stuffed one. A basset hound. I said my name was Lightning.
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