1749 11 6
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I might wish I was anything
including some dust on the shelf
where maybe I might blow away
unseen like the coming of rust
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1749 10 6
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If you're a Boomer, your brain is teaming with decades-old Pop tunes that you just can't forget. The real reason you can never remember where you put your keys? Too many of your brain cells are clinging to every last lyric to “Fire and Rain,” “Free…
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1749 2 2
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contact.
intimacy.
human
fucking
connection.
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1749 12 1
|
. . . hot sand and quiet ocean only.
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1749 2 2
|
He was just walking along, making sure that no white, Hispanic, Native American or Asian people were doing anything illegal when he noticed the young black man walking down the street.
He hadn't meant to.
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1749 1 0
|
While the tea was steeping, Ms. Darcy unwrapped the package. The book was lovely. It had nice heavy paper and the print was a good size for reading. The cover was glossy and not too showy, and Ms. Darcy thought it would look just right on her shelf.
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1749 2 1
|
he took me hostage as I came out the door.
Nelson took me hostage and we went back to his parents' house. They were gone crappie fishing so I had to spend the whole weekend alone with him. I didn't have anything lined up for Saturday night, so it wasn'
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1749 4 2
|
Sparky took to me immediately. In some atavistic canine way he knew I was simpatico to a dog like him.
|
1749 3 0
|
My sadistic doctor was the only one laughing . Yes sir, I was officially, cordially, confirmed to meet that Irish/ Russian fellow…Colon Oscopy.
|
1749 0 0
|
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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1749 2 0
|
The heart of those stars is a dab of yellow light.
The darkness of the blue night appears so deep
because the downward strokes of the actual sky
are interspersed with a violet that’s almost black,
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1749 2 2
|
I am heading to work. It's early and Clare is still asleep. When I hit the breezeway I realize that I forgot my keys. I walk back into the house and start rustling through the junk on the table by the door. After a moment I sense someone standing behind me and…
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1749 11 7
|
Lucky for mama, he doesn't like for his women to work.
|
1748 7 7
|
As spilled on a sandy Corona del Mar beach/both in moonlight and starlight so lovely/and strangely sad as if receding still
|
1748 14 7
|
We sat in the weight room. The coach walked in with his clipboard and stood until we were quiet.
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1748 13 6
|
Before Sandy, there was hype of Sandy. On the third day of hype, the broadcasters laughed. Then B-O-O-M, lights out, houses flooded, and Obama was re-elected.
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1748 17 11
|
When he got out of sick bay, they moved him into a room with three other alkies. A kid, a tree trimmer, and a Catholic priest.
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1748 4 4
|
I call him a Staffordshire terrier. You call him a pit bull. Some people say he's lovable. Other people say he'll bite your face off without thinking too hard.
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1748 7 2
|
She had liked her new husband's sternness, and the way he ran his hands over her body, noticed every inch of it, made her feel not invisible.He traveled during the week, wore cufflinks, worked out in hotel gyms. On the weekends, they redecorated her house and tried to…
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1748 7 3
|
The surroundings, he thought, are just as important as what's surrounded.
|
1748 2 1
|
Bake sweet rolls and make love to your new wife, fall asleep for three years and grow a beard.
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1748 9 6
|
He brought me kisses from New York.
|
1748 15 13
|
I asked the hospice nurse about maggots.
|
1748 19 11
|
Today the isobars are far apart.
|
1748 10 6
|
The trees would answer with a creak and a crackle.
Fall was near, a rotten apple.
|
1747 1 1
|
Once upon a time in the days of old
There lived a poor tailor who- I am told-
Did brag that his daughter
Spun straw into gold!
|
1747 9 8
|
“It’s lost. Lost and gone. Forever. My love for you. I’m sorry.”
|
1747 6 2
|
Her fingers scampered over the table, practicing the deft stitching of the basilar artery.
|
1747 5 0
|
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
|
1747 2 2
|
“You own your own burial plot, but you don't own your home,” he'd said, and I couldn't help but agree.
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