1762 5 5
|
Train 664 leaves Thirtieth Street Station bound for New York City at 10:55. Concurrently, Train 663 leaves the station, headed for Harrisburg. Both trains are, confusingly, called The Keystone.If Mark and I have tickets for Train 664 because we plan to…
|
176253
|
"I made up my mind then, in the backseat, sucking on a cherry Popsicle, that I wanted to be like Ruby’s mother..."
|
176262
|
he told me to be careful,my feet may bleedI watched him walk up and down the path,occasionally bendingwhy?carpenter nails, pieces of broken shinglesall along the pathnow I know why
|
17621110
|
When her husband left she was not yet thirty
|
176274
|
A cow wanders onto a roof and falls through the skylight. It's a calamity, but such an innocent mistake. Mightn't you amble onto a rooftop once upon a full winter snow in Vermont?Another cow climbs a gravel mound in…
|
176220
|
we're only playing with this language you and I
|
17621512
|
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.
|
17621411
|
The beachy slope
never draws such goliaths.
|
176233
|
At first we thought metadata rich, non-hierarchical, network based, multi-provider filesystems were our future. An arduous journey but well worth the efforts for the beforehand unimaginable user experiences enabled by new technologies that thereupon displaced the…
|
17621613
|
Their nouns are few and stark./
Ours are numerous and dappled/
or subtly shaded and shadowed/
by circumstance and possibility.
|
17611616
|
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 …
|
176110
|
On the day they were born, the old mother eagle named her chicks Faith, Hope, and Charity.
|
176195
|
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
|
1761129
|
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…
|
17611312
|
screw everything, youth is plinko
|
176112
|
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…
|
17611612
|
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...
|
176165
|
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…
|
176111
|
My mother told me I came out of her screaming and didn’t stop for two years. After that I took up rocking.
|
176021
|
Face defined-front part of head
Cybil's eyes stick to a mirror and guard the woman's skin. The woman's image could be the result of uncontrolled narcissism, yet dry wrinkles are visible from her reflection. Disguise cream covers some of the woman's c
|
1760176
|
The Viper turns so quickly that Father's grabbing hand now faces its head instead of its tail.
|
176000
|
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.
|
176063
|
In his fridge he had one piece of meat. He hadn’t been expecting me. I cooked it for him and watched him eat.
|
176032
|
It was hard to believe that, even very recently, there had been first days of school where nothing happened.
|
176097
|
Give me back my / singularity, my tristesse, my photo ID.
|
176022
|
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…
|
176000
|
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
|
1760147
|
|
176085
|
Without warning his eyes expertly navigated into a closed position setting off the dream machine long without power until this very second.
|
176075
|
Traveling in half-lit fluorescence, she smiles up at me, pale and strained
|
