1546 7 5
|
They politely urged him not to get too involved with his creations.
|
154611
|
so I tighten hands with my castaway and say/you failed to impress in your folded peacock dress
|
154633
|
You were sitting on dark leather meringue, wearing slit ivy, epilated thighs sliding through, roots showing beneath your anaemic skin, fighting with the pale bluegreen of your veins. Quills extended from your left hand, bent about 10.2 degrees or so.
|
154675
|
When you encounter a body laying on the road, drive over it.
|
154631
|
I almost forgot. Her nipples taste like that syrup from a can of peaches. The kind you aren’t supposed to eat if you are 18 or older. The kind that adds baggage to the hips and I’m certainly not about to take out an insurance policy on my ass.
|
154664
|
And she warms her hands on fresh-cut gizzards, And he forgets the taste of honeyed peaches
|
154631
|
If girls have keys for fingers then locks cannot hold them.
|
154620
|
He slumped forward, drooling into his lap.
|
15461211
|
When I no longer know you, what signal will you give to remind me that you and I once loved?
|
154522
|
contact.
intimacy.
human
fucking
connection.
|
154521
|
I knew I spoke out of turn when I asked my father's old friend Charlie Jobe what he thought would come of moving to the veterans' camp, or "Village of the Deranged", as the newspaper has since taken to calling it. That was their description after all the
|
154533
|
They came early and parked up, under cover of the night and the giant oak. I only know this because people told me afterwards. Watching us, they were. It was six o'clock before they smashed their way in, scaring the three of us out of our wits. Baby Billy screamed the place…
|
154587
|
But what if it grew into a nasty tea party-ish bimbo right winger -- a little Michelle Bachmann nubbin?
|
154562
|
Her fingers scampered over the table, practicing the deft stitching of the basilar artery.
|
1545108
|
Toxins make a body happy/
as if acceleration toward//
an end of consciousness/
is its own reward.
|
154594
|
Not many people like Geminis.
|
1545149
|
I crave the confines of the convent
|
1545116
|
She stood with her sisters, pretty maids in a row, felt cold despite the scorching spring sun. Heard what the man said but didn’t register; words from the Lord flew around her like the flighty trill of the robins up above. The birds made more sense.
|
154575
|
—You must be joking, he laughed.
|
154532
|
Your grandmother has gotten old, in that way where one day you wake up, and you realize that someone you've been looking at your whole life suddenly looks different. That hands which used to gently place band-aids on scraped knees are…
|
1545103
|
One afternoon the kids from next door come over. Marion is our age, Jimmy a year younger. Marion's pretty. I can't even look at her.
|
154422
|
The fucking black dress; the fucking black dress that obfuscates whether or not you're pretty in the face, that obfuscates the sound of your voice, that obfuscates the color of your hair, your eyez, your skin,
|
1544109
|
|
154465
|
There’s a hole in my sock, just large enough that my big toe keeps slipping out.
|
154497
|
It doesn't have to be force grown betweenus. We entwine naturally. It's agood feeling to have a friend who at oncedoesn't require a hothouse ceiling laidbetween each invisible touch. There's justwind. There's just rain. There's just sun. There's just you.There's just…
|
154482
|
Once, when he had been married for a year, she sent him a card which said, "If you have seen a cat smoke a pipe, you have got it made." There was an illustration of a big, black panther, standing up on its hind legs, smoking what looked like a big tub of
|
154444
|
death spoke in a swimming pool in late june:
|
154400
|
Ahead, she heard voices. She approached very slowly, as quiet as possible. She knelt behind a pair of shrubs and peeked through a small opening.
|
1544104
|
Digging in another garden, jumping into another space and time, I impaled a toad on the tines of a garden fork. At first I thought the toad was a clump of clay, stuck to the thick tine, but before I could kick the clay off with my…
|
154400
|
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
|
