1594 3 2
|
A married woman requests a butterfly tattoo that won't please her husband from an old tattoo artist.
|
1594 5 3
|
"I made up my mind then, in the backseat, sucking on a cherry Popsicle, that I wanted to be like Ruby’s mother..."
|
1594 9 8
|
We've come this far. That's all we know. We've watched others reach their abrupt ends. They've given us this exact moment and we've taken it from them, sometimes without thinking. It's time for the next communication. I know what concern is…
|
1594 0 0
|
oh, sure i’m still running around like a heads-up/off/prophet/profit/fit trying to cut off my very own de/(con)instruction and all other sordid a•void•able & available/a-Babel towers of post &toastmodern doom/daze
|
1594 7 5
|
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.
|
1594 6 4
|
First off, don't worry about the marriage. It ain't gonna last. But don't worry. People will drive you nuts with that tiresome old chestnut, “there's more than one fish in the sea.” Thing is, they're right. Listen. I'm not talking salmon and sea bream…
|
1594 4 4
|
Both his parents saved their pent up Puritan pasts to fill his ears with brimstone clichés.
"Idle time is the devil's playground", he would tell me, scrunching up his face, stuffing it full of meat lovers pizza.
|
1594 6 6
|
Enough, Trump.We've had it my dear, with your pink ties, your hairs, your swagger, towers, your plenty of monies,your tempers, your honeys. I don't speak for all, not at all, but for many who never did like your style or bile, your tenacious temerity,…
|
1594 0 0
|
What's the protocol for telling people your spouse has cancer? How do you tell your son, your friends, your co-workers? How do you tell your mother? How do you tell her mother?
|
1594 6 0
|
The two walked around, taking in all the classics: the imported Russian matryoshka dolls of varying styles and bright colors; spinning tops, red Radio Flyer wagons, kaleidoscopes, and wooden yo-yo's invoked memories of Christmases past. The hand-stitched
|
1594 17 14
|
I'd laugh, cry, splutter with confusion or outrage. I'd probably say “Duh” a lot, grow pale, flush, and wink at the viewers. I'd furrow my eyebrows, raise one or both, and my eyes would narrow, widen,…
|
1594 5 2
|
Elvis awoke in a cold, dank sweat, hungover from bourbon and bad dreams.
|
1593 14 8
|
And she's dying like someone who's tried living and failed.
|
1593 4 4
|
She served him pie she knew was ruined.
|
1593 25 20
|
I read my book of names. Over and over again. Our name appeared in the newspaper 254,991 times between 1896 and 1944.
|
1593 1 1
|
writing because it's the only drug i havesick on sadnessas the weight of the moment crumbling around me comes down some sweet second inspires…
|
1593 10 9
|
Strike me down hard, bolt of pure blue, laser focus square, blast of hydrogen nuclear, knock me on the keister, blind me down, oh Lordy Lord Lord.
|
1593 16 11
|
he thought of her / longingly
|
1593 14 7
|
|
1593 6 2
|
The water rolls gently this evening, barely touching my toes before retreating. The tide has been going out for over an hour and already there are several victims – crustaceans, spider crabs, minnows.
|
1593 4 2
|
I imagined the crystals in my mouth.
Salt flowers blooming on my tongue.
|
1592 2 1
|
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.
|
1592 0 0
|
Solomon just makes people leak. Literally.
|
1592 10 7
|
I reached for that hair and the air zagged white...
|
1592 18 12
|
He spends his Sunday morning spraying WD-40 through the straw-like stream attachment at the expansive paper nest of beige and ivory striped wasps.
|
1592 11 4
|
My spooky cat got out again. Under the deck she ran. Out came the hose that chased her about. Fur spiked, tail pointing, yowling, she hissed at me, and back in the house she pranced. It's been two days now. She slithers out for food after…
|
1592 7 8
|
of any cautionary tale is somewhere found rolling around in your own sweet voice for me. Your sound's still listing there inside my wobbly head. My head is too often in my open hands, grinning behind its face-mask like a parade on…
|
1591 6 5
|
“Can I feel it?” he reached his hands out immediately, expecting I’d say yes. I am the type to always say yes, right?
“Sure.” I confirmed, swallowing back my fear of his touch. He didn’t seem himself, like this. I led his hands to my hips and let them
|
1591 14 6
|
Marge didn't eat lamb or pork.
|
1591 1 2
|
[SOME PEOPLE ARE BETTER THAN OTHERS.]
|