1704 3 3
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“What is the sickness that you have?” Colin behind the glass wondered.
“Too much world,” said Anise Fish.
“We have that in common.”
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17041414
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A wrinkled man lie atop an ivory-clad mattress, matched sheets covered his body, matched hair covered his head.
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170485
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Twice burned, it buries its graves.
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170400
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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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170480
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The serious writer looks back on a long and distinguished career as an herbologist.
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170421
|
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.
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17041211
|
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170487
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the steady, persistent work of beauty
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170321
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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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170333
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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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1703147
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170375
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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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17032015
|
Falling Water almost fell./
12 million dollars later//
it will splay itself a little longer
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1703107
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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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170366
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Now, at last, she finds what she's been searching for. Worms. Like bitty pale larva, like half-moons of air trapped under fingernails. She thinks she sees one twitch; she blinks more furiously and hates herself for it.
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170397
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They rise up, a sullen, sorrowful/
army of reproach, staring,//
stone-faced but eyed with fire.
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170300
|
If you were the ozone,
I’d want to leave you gaping.
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170300
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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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170242
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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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170200
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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…
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170210
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[He] practiced aromatherapy and licentiousness, in no particular order.
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170222
|
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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1702158
|
Mostly, though, reiteration of the old/
in an idiosyncrasy that strives/
to become fresh and fails
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170296
|
Some nights you really feel it.
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170295
|
A little contempuous aside by the critical theorist guy, Frederick Jameson-- that it was logically absurd to call anything that human beings do, produce or effect “unnatural,”-- has brought forth the following. We are…
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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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1702138
|
Every morning if I don't have to go potty....
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170244
|
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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17021811
|
It could be fun,/
with the guns, explosives, Molotov/
Cocktails and all,
|
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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