1743 5 3
|
Smoking is like hooking up with an ex-girlfriend: you know she's bad for you and that it won't work out, but it feels so familiar and comfortable and so easy to slide back into.
|
174253
|
“Me try anything,” he says, then laughs a little. “You’re fucked.”
|
174251
|
I sat on the corner of her desk ... Angela Merkel can be a sweetie when she wants to be.
|
17421611
|
I don't know how long I was down on the curb. When I came around it took several minutes to realize that it wasn't the moon overhead at all but a street light and the sticky feeling stuff I was lying in was, yeah, my blood. And the hand on my shoulder wasn't hers. I…
|
174221
|
Phil doesn’t know anything. He thinks his truck is possessed by his dead mother.
|
17422013
|
|
1742178
|
|
174200
|
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?
|
174276
|
She tells me I have to face the fact that I have the heart of the Tin Man. I know the story. He had none. She is very sensitive and I have to measure my remarks because words bruise her so easily. So, I…
|
174221
|
Five o’clock, and Madame choosing her evening legs. Elizabeth assisting. Elizabeth will continue to assist until midnight, despite the chaos, at which point the authorities will tell her such assistance is no longer necessary.
|
174200
|
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…
|
174220
|
As it turns out, hypertravel is surprisingly slimming.
|
17422213
|
Only scotch and cheap champagne/
retain their reliable flavors.
|
174264
|
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
|
174264
|
the first day of preschool/ my mother walked me down the street/ to a tall building that cut/ like a knife made of bricks/ right into the street,/ an american flag/ sticking straight out/ just above the door.
|
1742105
|
As a boy I fished under the Tappan Zee bridge which spans the Hudson River above New York City.
|
174231
|
|
174121
|
‘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.
|
174152
|
We lay in what we have made, minute fleshy bullets in the target we have made.
|
1741169
|
If love could only by heat be bound
|
1741139
|
Writing as a form of imaginative hatred
|
174165
|
There’s a hole in my sock, just large enough that my big toe keeps slipping out.
|
17411211
|
Coward, cuckold, she taunts: So be it. He's not a young man anymore, nor as clever as he once was, or thought.
|
17411617
|
Sharpie marked, Free Still Works
|
174133
|
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
|
174082
|
Entering that darkroom is like slipping through the barrel of a rifle.
|
174000
|
The money stank on the table. Money is dirty she said, one of the dirtiest things. So many people touch it. This pile of brine would not explain its reek, only demanded that we accepted its stench as requisite. It had to have been the cash that stank, prior to its arrival…
|
17402011
|
The box thuds at your feet: mug, plant, wedding photo, the 25-year pen.
|
174010
|
Leda looks back over her shoulder at us as the swan
grips her from behind while at the same time nipping at
the nape of her neck. She's a freckled child and
a little frightened. There's a dark smudge beneath her eye
where the shadow runs. The swan
|
174062
|
"What the fuck are you looking at, Carl?" She snaps, turning her head toward me as the truck edges off the road and into a field of tobacco, into those broad green leaves of ancient sacristy and modern ablution. This is not a blissful kind of field. It is not full…
|
