1295 5 4
|
Max is the color of burnt caramelized sugar
the sweet crust that decorates our bright enameled pots.
|
129541
|
A tanka/haiku poem about grandma getting run over by a reindeer.
|
129565
|
In your mouth is the attic studio
Where your father’s brushes lie wet with water
|
129585
|
The army was bulldozing grandmother's house.
|
129551
|
She wasn't even trying to live.
|
129554
|
Bill decided he hated his neighbors on a Sunday morning in June.
|
129422
|
There she is. A paper doll of me. The dress, the lilt, the self-hatred. The crowd thins and swells in want of a scene. Conversations begin, pretend, then halt. My gin and tonic sweats into my hand and I lick at the…
|
1294111
|
Eat me so I can sink in your mouth, my paper fraying along the sharp topography of your tongue, lodging in the holes where your teeth used to be. There, I will storm an infection until your mouth inks my words.
|
129476
|
In human rights, a man and a woman may marry and bring forth a family. It is a civil right in the U.S. but not a human right (as far as I know) to raise a child singly without the knowledge of the other parent.
|
1294216
|
She hasn't called me in days. Before calling her, I search my memory for something romantic to say. Shakespeare's Sonnet 73 says exactly what I'm thinking. But she doesn't need to hear it. She already knows, as all human efforts come to an end, my core energies are tapering…
|
129400
|
The moon is now at the corner on pace for the horizon. On top of a tall business building in Downtown Newark stop a woman in a hood cloak.
|
129497
|
|
129476
|
"I tell you about ten other men
who want to love me and two I could kiss
in the smoking room of a jazz club,
you wonder if I’d love anyone."
|
129463
|
I'm not sure if this is breaking the rules of Fictionaut, but here's a trailer of a poetry tour of Europe I did earlier this year. We hope to break it down into webisodes soon enough to highlight the brilliant readings, brilliant local poets and such that you can find not…
|
129454
|
Time has wings. They are bright and beautiful, like those of a butterfly. They are delicate wings, and they carry the years away from my decaying mind. I would break those wings if I could, for tomorrow I turn seventy-three, and I grow weary of their ince
|
129444
|
It was like watching one of those vintage eighteen-frames-per-second films of someone trying to open a stuck umbrella.
|
1294129
|
Fax me back to South Street listening to the dumpster / trumpeter, standing like licorice in the rain, / as the fetid officers assemble for the raid
|
129432
|
Woman With Water Bottles has taken up a little spot in the back of my brain, her hair tickling her eyes in the breeze.
|
129473
|
The surroundings, he thought, are just as important as what's surrounded.
|
1294168
|
But his muscles fluttered and off he flew
leaving the stink of barnyard on the sheets.
|
129422
|
What becomes the identity of a woman who has been denied all her rights and thrown into a mental institution?
|
129431
|
It's Granny hauling her crooked soul into heaven. Guess who I stole that image from?
|
129498
|
|
12941314
|
1.As fast as that I wake to astonishing desire. I'd met you at my parents' house just the weekend before but for them (them the drained students trying to relax, refill before their afternoon sessions) you are the stranger in the room,…
|
129341
|
She heard mortar fire, whose percussive power rose above the tapping typewriter keys. A perspiration of terror broke on Loretta’s brow, under her arms. Then suddenly, the whistling of shells.
|
129340
|
I had a dream. "And it was a long dream, as dreams go. . ."
|
129343
|
Philosophy: a muscular exercise of throat, jaw, tongue, and brain.
|
129322
|
Jason, the obnoxious host, thrusts his microphone against my nose.
|
129300
|
“You did what?”
“Well, the bike is a classic. Getting the proper parts for it just isn’t easy.”
“You’ll end up like smeared all over the road doing things like that, and I’ll have to pick you up again. Geez. Watch out for this branch-”
Bruce held
|
129300
|
mis-placed
the change
she goes looking for.
her folks
missed another hour...
her worth-while spent wasting
the voice wouldn’t leave the leaves alone.
|
