1702 9 7
|
They rise up, a sullen, sorrowful/
army of reproach, staring,//
stone-faced but eyed with fire.
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170200
|
And the ocean was black and green and blue—as your dress that clung to your body’s curve. Round as the bend of the water trailing the false line of the shore.
|
170121
|
‘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.
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170142
|
Looking with his ears, Hearing with his eyes, Not really mute, he simply didn't know how to speak.One word, then another string together,a crack spreads across an ice covered lake. Now there is an open channel, and his thoughts roil the…
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170110
|
[He] practiced aromatherapy and licentiousness, in no particular order.
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170133
|
Everyone was shocked when they heard Tinkerbelle was six days gone and had got so heavy she couldn't fly. Who could have done it, everyone asked, but Tinkerbelle wasn't telling. So no one knew. That isn't true. I knew, and in this Declaration I swear I will tell…
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170143
|
"Hey, man. All we represent to them, man, is somebody who needs a haircut."
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1701147
|
|
170100
|
And there sat one man. Searching for words and solace. The silence returned and the colors peeled off from the walls. Darkness returned with fledgling light. He threw back his head and filled the emptiness with his laugh. He laughed in mirth and in misery
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170175
|
In the beginning was the Word and the Word was God. What on Earth does that mean? What the hell? Earth, hell, heaven, they were good concepts. He took a rib out of Adam and began to write with it.
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17011811
|
It could be fun,/
with the guns, explosives, Molotov/
Cocktails and all,
|
17011414
|
A wrinkled man lie atop an ivory-clad mattress, matched sheets covered his body, matched hair covered his head.
|
170160
|
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
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170100
|
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
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1701107
|
Look at her. She doesn't want to be here. The kiss and “wouldn't miss it for the world” was as empty as her crossed arms, crossed legs, and jittery foot were loaded. She attacked the foam of her latte with a tiny red straw. I wanted to scream. Complain about the…
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170121
|
Everybody knew it would happen. It didn’t happen exactly when or how they thought it would, but nonetheless it happened.
“I told you it would happen,” a bearded man told his wife.
|
170099
|
Requires one of those leaps.
|
170000
|
Dr. van Roos reminded the group that trauma is trauma...
|
170065
|
There is an empty space,
between every note in rock 'n' roll,
where they have buried John Bonham,
|
17001712
|
love weaves a perforated web
between the spikes
of longing
|
170096
|
Some nights you really feel it.
|
170085
|
Twice burned, it buries its graves.
|
170080
|
The serious writer looks back on a long and distinguished career as an herbologist.
|
17001211
|
|
170087
|
the steady, persistent work of beauty
|
169922
|
I remember thinking the seasons are arriving later every year,
as if the world has been slowed by the weight of graves.
|
169900
|
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…
|
169933
|
The next thing we knew, the KGB started tailing us everywhere we went. They must have heard about Lenin’s Paintings, was all we could figure. Because, what if they were real?
That night we went out to a pizza place where we saw the worst graffiti in t
|
169985
|
When the malady struck and the world fell dark at noon, she and I groped the walls and found our front door. Outside, bewildered, we heard the whine of jets in free-fall, explosions in the imagined distance. And we heard a car — or was it a truck that veered…
|
169942
|
Maybe she was crying before she got on the coach at Marble Arch, settled in the seat across from me, but by the time we reach Victoria Gate, tears stream down her face, mouth open to receive her own sacrament.Indian, ageless in tasteful floral, a blue sweater despite summer…
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