1767 4 4
|
I have a ball-pein hammer in my coat pocket.
|
17671613
|
Their nouns are few and stark./
Ours are numerous and dappled/
or subtly shaded and shadowed/
by circumstance and possibility.
|
176695
|
So strange this feelingTo meet someone I've haven't really metTo know someone I don't actually knowTo desire to learn more but sure I never willTo feel connected not knowing what I'm connected toTo read words, thoughts, feel moved by them, but never hear a voice
|
176600
|
No way was Robert actually surprised that hewas competitive with himself, but there was something way more concrete about this. Instead of hand wringing, there was someone, Bob, that he could punch.
|
176653
|
"I made up my mind then, in the backseat, sucking on a cherry Popsicle, that I wanted to be like Ruby’s mother..."
|
176610
|
"I always disliked such display of religious fervor. I dislike religious fervor. Period."
|
176621
|
Forgive me father for I have sinned.”
“Tell me how you have sinned, my son?”
Lies, father. I have told lie after lie in pursuit of my personal gain. I have lied to my family, my friends, to thousands of people who desired nothing from me but the tr
|
1766108
|
When I stumbled upon evidence that the man I'd loved and trusted for 20 years had a secret girlfriend for the past 10 of those years, he tried to deny it.“We never had sex!” he told me. And I believed him. For about two minutes.“You never…
|
176621
|
‘Do I still ‘respect’ you? Ha! - there’s a sweet old-fashioned phrase! I don’t know, maybe not so much ...
|
17661512
|
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.
|
176622
|
My therapist told me I have post traumatic stress disorder My uncle had that He fought in the war I guess I fought in my own kind Not between countries Between children and father Between husband and wife Between addiction and sobriety When my father got…
|
176665
|
Is every librarian a poet at heart? I don't know, but a group of librarians recently put their heads together and came up with these library-themed Valentine's Day poems: Roses are red Your book's overdue You've had it for months Which is…
|
17661411
|
The beachy slope
never draws such goliaths.
|
176631
|
It's Granny hauling her crooked soul into heaven. Guess who I stole that image from?
|
176500
|
[CAUTION: THIS CAN CONTAINS THE CAFFEINE EQUIVALENT OF THREE CUPS OF COFFEE. PEOPLE WHO ARE ELDERLY, PREGNANT, OR SENSITIVE TO CAFFEINE SHOULD NOT CONSUME THIS BEVERAGE!]
|
17651312
|
screw everything, youth is plinko
|
176563
|
In his fridge he had one piece of meat. He hadn’t been expecting me. I cooked it for him and watched him eat.
|
176512
|
In the cicada's cry No sign can foretell How soon it must dieBasho "Hear the locusts?" The woman lifts the child's head. "Hear em, baby?" The child looks blankly in the…
|
17651110
|
When her husband left she was not yet thirty
|
176575
|
I am standing in the kitchen, kneading dough, because this is one way to say sorry. This is way to say, things will be different now, look.
|
176543
|
Tony sat down in the hotel room with his back against the wall. He had a handsome face, with three-day stubble growing from it, his pupils very large as if frightened by something, or from deep thought. In his hand, was the winning lottery, Periodically he would get up…
|
176511
|
Seventeen-year cicadas are the sometimes-singers that surprise spring with the ugliest mouths of all.
|
17651512
|
and dreamed itself infinite.
|
17641616
|
To See Who's There Able these days to search through centuries, I click, scribble, cut and paste, skim, reject, record, resurrect a wet stone wall, the smell of burning peat. Bob's your uncle, Peggy's …
|
176410
|
On the day they were born, the old mother eagle named her chicks Faith, Hope, and Charity.
|
1764218
|
Wind pummeled me awake, smelling of pine and some quality of newness I could not identify...
|
17641612
|
It's the little things that trip us
up: a small hole in a level field,
an innocuous root in a well-trod
path, a disinclined sidewalk...
|
176420
|
I try again. "You can make a big cup by putting your hands and fingers together, see?"
He glares at me. "A giant could make a big cup," he says. "A giant could make a giant cup."
I thought so before, and I’ll say it again. A little genius.
|
176400
|
There was a whole group of us Young Turk poets who hung out at the Savoy Tivoli in North Beach. Most of them drove cabs, (whereas I was now working in a damned gas station for Angel, my publisher’s man, who got me a job there.) They would double-park thei
|
176485
|
Without warning his eyes expertly navigated into a closed position setting off the dream machine long without power until this very second.
|
