1489 3 1
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“That’s just Ryan W. Bradley—son of a bitch knows better by now.”
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148980
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“You always use that as a crutch. You, a sixteen year old girl. The way you were…” She looked at me, shaking her head, looking at my body as if remembering some wrong, some thing that should not have been.
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148974
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Mass media thought control, from consumer advertising to political sloganeering, is creating a new generation of irrational thinkers. If this trend continues, one day soon we may find ourselves under the control of some genius gone haywire.
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148900
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It seemed like only yesterday that she was making sure to remember bottles for Hunter and now he was eating regular adult food, and they were looking into tutors for next year, and Hunter was nearly four. Her runty Hunty umpkins was going to be four.
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148921
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The poet paused
Pen poised in hand
A wrinkle on his brow
He’d but to rhyme the final verse
The only problem
How?
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14892112
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"the rum tasted of hibiscus blossoms"
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148975
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Independence Day was a Thursday. Frank had been invited to join some Yale Art School classmates in Vermont for a three-day bacchanalia.
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148977
|
fuck you Charles Bukowski
go cry in your eggs in a Jersey diner
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1489178
|
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148997
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The day you came to the wedding the sky was so, so brightly July./ I saw my face where I left it the last time . . . .
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148931
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If girls have keys for fingers then locks cannot hold them.
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148842
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The villagers smash in a garage door with their heads, causing some to bleed from the ears and mouth.
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148821
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The other night while we stood in the kitchen locked in each other's stone silence, he finally said, “You're waiting for something to get you to the other side of grief. But there's no such thing.”
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148810
|
Amyra pressed her hands on the brick wall and rubbed it. She thought about hanging something on there, but she did not have the tools to make a hole. In fact, the thought of having a hole in the wall would be enough.
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14881310
|
Why is there a heavy weight and a chain and a padlock in her woodstove? Because, she says to herself, slightly hysterically, because this is yet another thing that you must carry. Why? Because life is full of chains and padlocks and heavy weights. Hea
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1488116
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She stood with her sisters, pretty maids in a row, felt cold despite the scorching spring sun. Heard what the man said but didn’t register; words from the Lord flew around her like the flighty trill of the robins up above. The birds made more sense.
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148732
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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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148787
|
Tender veterinarian, even if you weren't so tall, or your eyes so warm, or your fingers so long, or if you didn't bend over my sick cat with such astounding grace, or shoot those quick, intense glances at me, I'd have woven dreams while in your uncommon presence. Vulnerable…
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148765
|
the names / she carried (within)
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148711
|
i killed a poetic boy yesterday. the old ladies in theshadows swore at him when he was walking home proud ashell with a new pocketknife. they told him we dienext week so laugh like you got limes for balls. hecalled them drippy old vultures in his native tongue.they didn't…
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148766
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14871012
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A cult is one thing; it defies common sense that a commonly educated person cannot escape cultist thinking and belonging. That cult, A.A., is girded by police, fire, therapy, hospitals, insurance companies, and courts.
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148711
|
By: Roz Warren (and Janet Golden)I'm a humor writer. My work appears in publications from The Funny Times to The New York Times. Janet is a history professor whose writing was confined to academic journals and the occasional op-ed. Driving back from the Jersey shore one…
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148711
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Seventeen-year cicadas are the sometimes-singers that surprise spring with the ugliest mouths of all.
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148610
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I’ve been here before.
it wasn’t you though—
it was her before you,
and then she before her …
before you.
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148621
|
The Bike Messenger on Lexington Avenue
Comes to rest
taking a moment
in the falling rain
slowly massaging the
veins at the top
of his bald head
Cracking his neck
while the yellow cabs start
honking behind him
Unwilling to mov
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148600
|
Darrell looked at me, then down at himself. He was still in his wet underwear. "What is this?" he said, looking up again. "Where in the hell was I?" He shook his head. "It was weird, Philip. Boy, that was one wild dream."
"That was no d
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148699
|
Requires one of those leaps.
|
148633
|
Karen likes to make a big deal about life experience. Specifically how much more she has than me. What that actually means, she's never made clear. The definition changes and mutates as the years go by, always in her…
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1486129
|
What happened later that evening is unclear. When Mickey got back to his quarters, he was in good spirits. Buoyant even.
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