1778 12 5
|
Can’t you do anything right?
|
177822
|
Sit back n enjoy the show in a puffy puffed-up chair
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1778105
|
As a boy I fished under the Tappan Zee bridge which spans the Hudson River above New York City.
|
1778106
|
Rarely is Quay Street so clean,
Monday in rain,
Neactain’s ticking over with
Slow jazz and crosswords,
Stout and steaming anoraks.
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17771510
|
that guy/ MOSTLY understood / endings
|
177700
|
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…
|
177711
|
...the loving and very painful hurt of our daily sustenance
|
177780
|
That dog again; enduring love.
|
177722
|
|
1777126
|
I looked around in my pantry but there were no sentences I felt like cooking.
|
177744
|
The only silver lining? The man in my life and I are in this together.
|
177776
|
She hadn’t died. She wasn’t a ghost. She wasn’t even invisible. She just wasn’t see-able.
|
1777156
|
It was not that he was boring – it’s just that he needed a lot of encouragement. When he came, he whispered to himself, ‘ohgodohgodohgod’ - like it was something to be ashamed of, to be sorry for. I wanted to hold him close against me but I also n
|
177712
|
“Why do you write filth?” they howl
|
177700
|
You enter the lobby of the office building tentatively at first - you're a little nervous about this interview, after all - but you recall how spectacular and professional you dressed that morning. Plus you read through the company's LinkedIn profile at least five times…
|
177630
|
“He looks funny again,” the twins would say. “Cow looks funny, Mummy.”
|
177654
|
It turns out I know a thing or two about momentum. I know, I know. Like the crescendo of your bicycle wheels. Like the force the florist put on the stems the day Linda died. The way my fingers spin between planetary mass. This is how I know I’m not real
|
177600
|
Dreams will show you a life that might or might not be yours, but you better believe that they've got to serve when you're asked to come up with a story."--Frank Baron, the night he made bail and left town1. First Blood in Dreams Long Ago The…
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17761310
|
Uncounted hens and piglets/
die at my demand. The killing floor//
runs red for me. I am/
monstrous to creatures small and great,
|
1776105
|
Brazilian girls yammer
with their book bags
up against my leg.
|
177699
|
Requires one of those leaps.
|
17761816
|
March 16, 2006 My mail, e-mail, and phone calls go from the ridiculous to the sublime. Apologies for the cliché, but I can't resist its perfect applicability: In my mailbox today yet another catalogue of boob jobs in bikinis and an invitation to explore…
|
177696
|
One frozen hand protruded from the snow.
|
177600
|
Mayra heard the bell ring and opened the door to her small home in downtown Havana. Mayra was in her 50's and had the beautiful dark olive skin of most Cuban people who have a mix of Caucasian and Negro in their blood.
|
177676
|
I’m supposed to be writing poems but it’s Saturday morning and I’m watching cartoons.
|
177633
|
|
177589
|
I thought the Ferris wheel was dumb. All it did was give you a high altitude view of the little Minnesota town where I had grown up.
|
1775108
|
That's demeaning enough, but not as hard to take as the customers. They're all jaded hipsters, thumb diddling smartphone freaks, pretending their online interactions actually count as relationships and that “tweets” are real conversations. It's sad, reall
|
177596
|
I have always admired flat-chested women.
|
17751810
|
It’s Sunday- no need to shave-/
but shave, I do. A little act//
of discipline in the discipline/
of routine.
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