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94% Battery Power Remaining
Last night I dreamt about a mutt whose tail never learned how to wag, and under a sun that gagged us with heat, the mutt sat stoned with its mouth belching cones of pot smoke. Sometimes the smoke shone orange – sometim
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It was just lying there by the side of the road next to a mailbox, pockets turned out, weeds kinda rolled flat around it. I counted three nickels, a dime, and a cigar butt too. I could sure use the change for gum, but I didn't want to get near it. It looked dead,…
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Try it with and without/
middle name or middle initial.//
Try different keywords.
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164178
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The weatherman can't predict
accumulation. He can only tell you
it will be cold. Expect ice, wind, snow, expect
delays. Your daughters play outside,
dancing around the Evergreen, its branches
bearing the weight of snow, its branches
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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
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Yankees call them daffodils.
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what is raised up must rest on its foundation.
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I had a meeting with the editor of a well-known magazine. She said, “I think your paradigm got stuck up your monomyth.” “Oh dear. Is that bad?” “Bad? You want to be a writer, don't you?” “Well, I did. I'm not so sure now.…
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Satchmo sings a love song over the sound system. People read books, tap keyboards, drink coffee, eat cake. In Barnes & Noble—more a coffee shop these days than a bookstore—I am thinking about my dad and his stomach cancer.The terror he…
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My only celebrity anecdote involves seeing Barbara Bush in the back of the Presidential limo ...
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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…
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My father was dating already. Her name was Shelly. She had a man-like body, buck teeth and red hair, a big forehead. I don't know what bog she climbed out of. She wanted to fill in for my mother, but I locked her out of my room. I just wanted to be sad and hold…
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Phil doesn’t know anything. He thinks his truck is possessed by his dead mother.
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Can I still be in your pictures?
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Don’t worry about what went aloud. I said nothing.
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Why won’t my parakeet eat my diarrhea?
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After she died, clearing out her safe deposit box at the local bank, I found more numberplates.
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When he suggested to her that they make a sex tape, because that’s what everyone was doing, she wasn’t really surprised. And there was a truly repugnant part of it that fit in with her desire for moral self-flagellation.
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You were at a saloon on Water Street. Witnesses say. You were taken out of the place and put on a sloop against your will. Witnesses don’t say.
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and dreamed itself infinite.
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God forbid you should break one of the camps precious “rules,” which were more or less like the Ten F'ing Commandments around there.
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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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O’Toole signaled again with two fingers. The night was young. Suddenly I had to go home to my lovely Penny. All I knew was I didn’t want to end up drinking at a hole like this with my head down on the bar.
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This morning I heard her downstairs trying to get away silently. I knew she would write a short goodbye note. I knew it would tell me her reason for leaving —she had to be free of my indifference. I dressed, finished my coffee, backed out of the driveway and went to…
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I said, “Marcy, Source Almanac is a guide for the Apple.”
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I like my men like I like my wine: in a box.
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Well, just put your hand on my knee, alone in my room, perv, unasked-and-unflirted for, go get a date, you coward, you limp-dicked male bitch . . .
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FOR SALE. One prom dress, never worn. Size 18.
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Later I asked Mark if he wanted to watch, but his wife wouldn’t let him. She didn’t like kinky stuff, she said.
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In the dream Yesler rolled, a broad avenue made of fine yellow dust, from Third down toward Second, and I made my way in the silence and bright morning air. To my left on the corner of Second stood the old Mocambo cafe and lounge, home to drag…
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