1702 2 2
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I built the fence myself, strong and high and aesthetically pleasing. It was high enough to provide privacy on both sides, but from my bedroom balcony I could see everything. More than I wanted to see.
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170233
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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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170243
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"Hey, man. All we represent to them, man, is somebody who needs a haircut."
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1702147
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170200
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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?
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170221
|
Cammie Richard's house was just like all the others in Wilchester. The exterior was vaguely reminiscent of the Dutch style; gray stone with cross beams of dark wood, with two stories and a bay window. Her yard was fertilizer green, with a giant STRATFORD FOOTBALL…
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170200
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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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170297
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They rise up, a sullen, sorrowful/
army of reproach, staring,//
stone-faced but eyed with fire.
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170200
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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.
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170122
|
I remember thinking the seasons are arriving later every year,
as if the world has been slowed by the weight of graves.
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170121
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‘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
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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
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[He] practiced aromatherapy and licentiousness, in no particular order.
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170199
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Requires one of those leaps.
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170100
|
Dr. van Roos reminded the group that trauma is trauma...
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17011712
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love weaves a perforated web
between the spikes
of longing
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170196
|
Some nights you really feel it.
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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,
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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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170185
|
Twice burned, it buries its graves.
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170180
|
The serious writer looks back on a long and distinguished career as an herbologist.
|
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.
|
17011211
|
|
170100
|
Frowning, loosening a purple tie, Tony pushed through the golden revolving doors of a skyscraper. He drifted into the crowded midtown street as if in a daze. He was roused to his senses as his cell phone sent out the melody of his wedding song.
|
170033
|
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
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170065
|
There is an empty space,
between every note in rock 'n' roll,
where they have buried John Bonham,
|
1700158
|
Mostly, though, reiteration of the old/
in an idiosyncrasy that strives/
to become fresh and fails
|
170044
|
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.
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1700128
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