1780 20 13
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178011
|
The pear is a bruise. Feels like desperation in the light, it looks soft and blue. She wants to touch it and doesn’t want to. How the blood gathers under the blue and the body grows tender. Swells. Slowly.
|
178061
|
In his mind, he could hear Eve’s voice, “We had some good times, didn’t we?”
|
178086
|
I knew my cat was capable of telepathy when I began to have isolated, random, non-cause-related thoughts about food and feelings, little signals, and I realized that the signs — images of tangerines, tuna, bones; the idea of choice; slate, names; the feeling of…
|
178032
|
We fold it end over end, meeting in the middle where she takes it, and I let go...
|
177944
|
The last of your tenuous septum dissolves when you press the nozzle of the neti pot against it.
|
1779146
|
Marge didn't eat lamb or pork.
|
177900
|
Well, it was on a Monday and you know how bad Mondays are to begin with. I had been up real late the night before playin’ poker and drinkin’. I was thinking that after a couple of hours the hangover would wear off and I’d be okay, but instead I s
|
177955
|
Where you used to exist, there will only be spaces.
|
177944
|
Sitting near her desk, like a dunce cap,
red
|
177954
|
Quail looked up at her. Unsmiling, challenging.
Lemme just go wash my hands, he said.
She closed the door, bolted it. You won’t need your hands.
|
177964
|
We need to keep writing
because the great ones
aren’t always that great
We need to keep writing
to insure that the future
even has a future
We need to keep writing
because the wind won’t know how
or when to listen if we don’t
|
177999
|
Your honour stinks of failed fishing trips to Galway.
|
177865
|
There’s a hole in my sock, just large enough that my big toe keeps slipping out.
|
177822
|
Christmas Eve arrives with a relief that the season of joy will soon be over so I can feel the pain I am denying myself. Rosie presses her face against the kitchen window, leaving ghostlike impressions of the tip of her nose and her lips on the glass tha
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177800
|
I blinked the darkness out of my eyes and saw the man again; I could smell his breath. Just like dad’s. I must have fallen asleep. My eyes felt so heavy. I was cold. Why was I cold?
|
177865
|
Resting bitch face strikes again.
|
177821
|
She saw no sense in waiting. Waiting was a weakness.
|
177800
|
Walking home, carrying his guitar case, Jed felt the sums of his life adding up to dangerously high numbers, the deadly inertia of vaguely comfortable apathy swallowing his time. His moment would soon be fading. Because, like many young men before him, Jed…
|
177800
|
We dig up conscience-tunnels, pluck the play-flower of present choice for fun, run aground, past this dimly lit, though not to be underestimated, stage, and open door upon empty door, to nothing, for the lights are a pulse flickering in the perceptual per
|
177855
|
. . . did you notice yesterday afternoon how for an entire quarter hour five o’clock itself looked for a few minutes as if it would never arrive?
|
177821
|
The car has been parked there for slightly more than a day now, and nothing has occurred—there’s nothing “unusual,” nothing “amiss.” Except that it’s there, still, as he follows his boys to school.
|
177832
|
The most beautiful possible thing is to deprive all places of their meanings.
|
177820
|
He slumped forward, drooling into his lap.
|
177733
|
Her whole life was lived between high tide and low tide, moments of giggling grandeur and moments of sheer emptiness.
|
177721
|
‘Miguel! A pint of Guinness, please!'
I might as well have asked for his mother's immortal soul. A smile as benign as a stiletto. But he served a clean and tidy pint.
|
177734
|
IT's like, 15 words. Do you really need a snippet?
|
177754
|
|
177700
|
Her mouth was sour; her forehead was still damp with perspiration. She leaned against the bathroom wall and noted her complexion had gone pale. She wanted to slide down the wall and rest until she felt steadier, but…
|
17771712
|
love weaves a perforated web
between the spikes
of longing
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