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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…
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Over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house they went, Will and his new girlfriend Emma from Atlanta for the annual family dinner and drunken disaster in Allendale.
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The porous bear the anchorite’s vial
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159387
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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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Damien, my boyfriend, talks me back to sleep when I wake up in the middle of the night, he doesn't judge me for being afraid of the dark, or being lost at sea, he simply listens to me breathlessly explaining why I'm awake— again— at 3:32 in the…
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“Everything is neon, “ I say.
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In the gutter, the paper signs turned back to pulp.
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"My tits, " she instructed "aren't for public consumption".Everything was actually muffled and my ears began to bleed because of how progressively louder the thumping was in the center of my chest. Stacy decided to emphasize her point of disliking the objectification…
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Perhaps nothing has never existed;/
perhaps something always has
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The artist glides through an art supply store looking for a color within. She can feel the color, but she can't name it. She can almost see it, but it's not that kind of color. It's not like, say, blue or red, a primary color that animates flags or exotic ceremonies.…
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Late spring, summer before cancer. Frank drove Max and his pal Jason to Cincinnati for their first rock show. Less Than Jake at Bogart's. A two-hour drive for ska-punk.
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Warren Jeffries left this girlfriend of his named Karen, who was also a poet, and overnight she announced she’d gone back to being a lesbian, she’d so had it with MEN! She did a reading of her new series of Sappho poems at Cody’s Bookstore,
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“Perhaps instead of a book I could write lists of words, in alphabetical order, an avalanche of isolated words which expresses the truth I still do not know” — Italo Calvino albumen before child grit secretlyshame august blood …
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Perhaps you have heard the rumors of big money in poetry
Maybe that’s why everybody is writing it these days
Even Emily Dickinson must have heard these rumors
Myself, I suspected as much 50 years ago
And started early to accumulate my hoard of poe
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A bum leaves his shopping cart
in the middle of the intersection
at 7th Ave and Perry St
and walks away
leaving everything behind
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Somewhere, a mathematician is going mad in a box that decreases in size at the same speed it takes the mathematician to find a way to get out. At least he’ll die with an epiphany, which is more than we can say for you.
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feeling empty as the
bottom of a bottle
dry as a bone
in death valley alone
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Identification both ways was BooBoo, case sensitive.
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Justin comes out of the bathroom, finally erect, his hands glistening with K-Y jelly as he chucks the girlie mag into a corner. “I'm ready.” Through the afternoon's soft-filtered light, Kelly watches him climb on top of her and thinks of…
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Actress Rita Moreno wakes up humming.People (5/1/17)Riding a roller coaster with your partner makes you more attractive to each other. People (5/1/17)The image on the commemorative stamp the Central African Republic recently issued to honor film legend Marilyn Monroe…
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My cats are my world and more. They are rotund, little indoor-girl cats, though, who were taken from their mother too early to learn things like hunting and properly washing their privates, and so they think the mouse is just another interesting thing to
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The last time I saw Jackson, I didn’t write down the set list. This time I didn’t write down the set list, either.
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Joseph K. ran a publishing house in the shadow of the Castle.
Perhaps “publishing house” is too grand a title. Joseph K. kept a battery of six or seven (depending on repairs) manual typewriters, a crate of carbon paper, and a large stapling machine
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Mark dressed the velvet red Stetson,
too big for his head,
like a dandy.
A six year old savior
with fringe on his pockets
flapping as he, the ‘Judas horse’
led me ’round back
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It is a small life, circumscribed/
by debt and income, age and infirmity./
The Hidden Hand thrusts its middle finger/
high.
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Blood had soaked through his Converse All-Stars, and into his cotton sox. It was the smell of metal, of iron more specifically, that nudged his mind out from the fog of shock and denial, closer to the reality of his circumstances.
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The last row of furniture is all black leather. In unison the tigers hop onto a couch a piece, sit calmly on their haunches, and reach for remote controls buried in the cushions. Roaring, they paw at the remotes.
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Not like a Palestinian mother clinging to her baby shot through the belly or the baby clinging to the last moments of life in the arms of his father who, when the life departed, held him up over his head
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