1760 3 3
|
Don’t worry about what went aloud. I said nothing.
|
176065
|
“Hey honey. How are you?” The man sat down in the office chair, his cell phone pressed against his ear. Light peeked beneath the closed door from the main area of…
|
176000
|
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.
|
17601817
|
Johan was telling stories about the occupation. The Germans were stupid, he said.
|
175941
|
She heard mortar fire, whose percussive power rose above the tapping typewriter keys. A perspiration of terror broke on Loretta’s brow, under her arms. Then suddenly, the whistling of shells.
|
175940
|
Children, afraid of dogs cried. There was uproar of melee. Children strained at their leashes to get away.
|
17592011
|
The stunned son knelt to understand then fell, his heart shredded by the hollow point.
|
175966
|
This is not her death. This is absent-minded omniscience. This is impossible. And then again, the inside-out, implosion. And the hall was clogged with bodies; none of them hers, but who could be sure?
|
17592216
|
They come to mind/
like ice flowers/
on the small panes
|
175931
|
1. there's nothing more to say about it and I don't want to be drawn2. beautiful she couldn't hear me anyway I was desperate and there were moths3. they'd replaced his head with a picture of the moon he looked4. none of them were speaking English more like a ticking a…
|
175975
|
they got some heat here in the West
|
175931
|
Why won’t my parakeet eat my diarrhea?
|
1759129
|
now the days are empty
and time has lost its head
|
175999
|
Andalusia I. partners in sunset the hawk and I in ballet ..............................he:..........the small flame in the wind ..............................I:............the last tremor of grace the…
|
175974
|
|
175920
|
She could see very clearly in her mind many size five girls with radically short hair and Cowdyke outfits from places like L. L. Bean.
|
175992
|
Dear Jackknife Ponderosa, I'm stupid. Let's move on. Let's move past the part where I complain, where I struggle with circumstance, where I display my petty arms, and shoot holes in the air. …
|
175833
|
Let's buy this robin's egg blue furniture. Okay. Let's buy this album full of wren songs. Uh, okay.
|
175810
|
*A"Cento" which is a "patchwork poem" using the words of other writers. for V.W. …
|
175821
|
Sarge had done this before. Not with this many rookies and not on a one-way trip. This was a suicide mission. The boys didn't know it, but he did. They weren't coming back. Hell, they couldn't come back
|
17581210
|
Another siege/
with kamikaze fervor.
|
175873
|
Her skirt is so short, said the teenage girls to each other. I was 7 years old. I said: she looks like a slut. They laughed; I blushed. Later, the slut smiled at me. I tried to find the teenage girls but they were gone. I wanted to say: it's actually a pair of…
|
175810
|
A powerful song is often a result of imaginative storytelling through a unique “voice” and pitch-perfect musicality.
|
175896
|
It's because poetry would not do
because the fireflies were alive that night, aflame
|
175810
|
They're bound to wonder what sort of offspring we'll hatch. We've done the tests, we are cross-fertile.
|
17581611
|
|
1758113
|
He had a country house, she said, but it was near the city. She said the house was about as old as he was and she loved it— from the wood-framed windows to the heavy wood doors... to the garden on the side of the house
|
175864
|
Kai,
Oh the mathematics of solitude. I wish your father there. I read your wanting subtracted between the lines. He is almost gone. Hallucinates, not awake even though eyes are open. Yesterday he saw the baby brother you never met. I light four ultramarine…
|
175874
|
It was impossible
that you wouldn't love me
|
175721
|
For the residents of Oak Morrow, entropy is an art form. They break their own windows and crash their cars into their living rooms. Grannies and pets can usually scoot out of the way before they’re crushed under the juggernaut of creativity.
|
