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Lise started making up words when she lost her voice.
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she lifted and threw her legs out the open
side front window of the speeding auto
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"Sorry, I need to confirm the results." Sal turned to Paul. "Is it true that you got stood up?"
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My banker said, "We've millions we can spare,
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I remember mad strong words out of a teenager, fresh from the shower without a blouse: First! He will be my age, period! He will be the first to walk me to my room as my fear crashes to earth, final, considered.
And I will be the first to milk the w
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I visited the grave of Rimbaud. / It was pale blue
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Uh oh, the dry cleaning ticket
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He must have been pleased with his composition, as he repeated and repeated and repeated it. Paul joined in the song. Then the children at neighboring tables joined too, until the song rose into a dining hall chorus.
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Now comfy is as comfy does, but when sleeping strange, please accept a wide range of cradle, crib, cave.
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I am long of tooth, too, and when I go, maybe a box with my ashes inside will join the boxes containing the cats’ remains.
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I start with a morsel of truth, then hide it with lies...
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This summer they had reached their fifth anniversary, the landmark they’d dubbed the Bacchanal year. Instead of exchanging gifts made of wood, they’d bought expensive wines and champagnes and emancipated their bodies of clothing for two straight days. The
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To be honest, I've always wanted to be black
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Parsimony, Sage Advice, Alimony, and Time.
That would be one.
The Waste Land. The Hollow Men. The Red Wheelbarrow.
There are others,
But I have definite shoe anxiety dreams and can’t get over them.
Do not Go Gently Into That Good Night. Alone
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Co-workers have started calling him Jesus, Manson, Foghat, Doobie Brother, hippie, hipster, Grizzly Adams, Dude Lebowski... there’s really no end to it.
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Her clothing style varies from grunge to glamor and . . . she always looks good.
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I have committed to nothing. Therefore I have committed to something. The first sentence is now moot, and this story will eat itself.
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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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In the gutter, the paper signs turned back to pulp.
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My art teacher hated Salvador Dali.
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Nor woke, as always, to a dark room smelling of the lavender she kept in little bottles to perfume the otherwise stank air. Outside, she could still see the edge of the moon hanging there like a lopsided smile. The early summer wind blew in and stirred the faded floral…
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For the briefest moment, she was part of the sky. She hung there. Frozen. Suspended. Arms outstretched. She thought maybe she could take off flying, if she strained against gravity hard enough. She would soar into the pale blue until she reached the clouds. They …
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the names / she carried (within)
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Passing us in a delicate swirl of light perfume and healthy girl sweat, three bare midriff elfin, baby dykes with pencil thin eyebrows, and chic art hair cuts, swaggered in like cool young gunfighters straight off the cover of Bad Baby Butch Vogue
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On his knees
he divinates diverging lines
with belly laughs he levitates
the rebel spheres into geodes .
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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.
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I’m supposed to be writing poems but it’s Saturday morning and I’m watching cartoons.
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Warning: reader beware, there's sex in the air.
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