1783 2 0
|
I paused in case she said more. Then, “He’s very faint but he wants to talk.”
She leaned forward, chin almost resting on the grey-haired woman in front of her. “Tell him to shout.”
|
178396
|
Every time she tries to sleep they come; legions of small armored things scuttle claws aloft across the purple sand as soon as she stops moving.
|
178378
|
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
|
178262
|
We’re on our way out, my brother and me, to the graveyard.
|
17821413
|
Hunters took 925 bears in the 2020 season in Vermont
|
178200
|
I went out behind Parker's house and saw Darrell's tent set up in the grass. The flaps of the pup tent were open. I could see him through the mosquito netting. He had a Coleman lamp burning and lay on his back in his underwear on top of his sleeping bag.
|
178274
|
It was impossible
that you wouldn't love me
|
178211
|
“Man, that Fats just nothin’ but a powerhouse, nothin’ but ‘Jesus Rolled Away the Stone’ and them Cats his apostles.” La KeeSha replied, “Ya’ll a real Blues Daddy now.”
|
178132
|
A married woman requests a butterfly tattoo that won't please her husband from an old tattoo artist.
|
178100
|
Dr. van Roos reminded the group that trauma is trauma...
|
178150
|
In a little dirt church at the end of the world stands the ikon of an unrecognized saint.
|
17811513
|
I am eternal/
as long as the power holds
|
1781138
|
|
178122
|
"Honey," I called out to my wife. "Why do we have Spam in the closet?"
"You mean unsolicited bulk messages sent electronically?"
"No--the canned, precooked meat product made by the Hormel Corporation."
|
178133
|
Nearly everyone knows of that celebrated poet’s story coming down to us from classical Greek mythology: the tragic tale of Orpheus and his descent into the underworld to rescue his beloved Eurydice. Well, there’s a much lesser known story of a legendary 7
|
178166
|
No one writes epics anymore. Why? Perhaps it's because we no longer share mythologies. Once there was a shepherd, and now there is a Google bus loaded with pricks. Yes, you say, but they are good at math. Each and every one of them. And this is true. I envy them…
|
178121
|
Four nights out of sevenI will lay with youFour nights out of sevenIt's the best I can do In the day, we will bake our breadAt night, ha, we will break our bed!Four nights out of seven, I will be with you
|
178142
|
Renee said, "I have actually slept with a number of Captains of Industry and would rate them, overall, deficient in skills."
|
178000
|
Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. It was an unexpected meeting, but one that was sure to bring a lot of change for both. They met at a work event. Some friends wanted to put together a company and they had both been invited to be part of the project. Boy smiled. Girl remained…
|
1780158
|
Mostly, though, reiteration of the old/
in an idiosyncrasy that strives/
to become fresh and fails
|
1780117
|
She smacked his back a couple of times with the flat of her hand
|
1780117
|
He said stuff like
‘Crikey that's a knife',” she said, “it was bad, really
really bad.”
|
178066
|
The coffin-sized pit in his basement wasn’t freshly dug.
|
1780123
|
|
1780116
|
One must not confuse the meaning / of life with the joy of living
|
177977
|
|
177986
|
Your faded presence in sepia dream returns, firelight whispers and vanilla scented ash. We were a beautiful knot: sinew and hemp, burlap and magnolia petal, concrete and vapor. Gray kisses hovered overhead, misty…
|
177910
|
Creamcheese straightened out that spectacular yellow dress, tucking a fully exposed nipple back in under the material. She pulled down the hem of the dress, then strolled right into the Savoy like a wooden duck being pulled on a string, and headed straigh
|
17792216
|
They come to mind/
like ice flowers/
on the small panes
|
177943
|
Still no rain. Eight months, says Hollister. More like nine, says James Earl. We stand in Hollister’s high meadow, what’s left of it.
|
