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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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173300
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If you wanted to retain the ownership of said works, then you should not have died.
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173320
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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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173310
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But that night we were happy, looking all around at the bright lights of the several cities that we could see.
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173322
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What becomes the identity of a woman who has been denied all her rights and thrown into a mental institution?
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173365
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It's just another night in the old city, perched in the skeletal radio tower with my collection of telescopes
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173244
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Moore doubted, perhaps, that readers could sympathize with a man who had killed someone for a cause or a girlfriend who forgave him. Perhaps she felt that maiming is (not) worse than murder. Perhaps she decided that the story should be about that.
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1732106
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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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1732121
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. . . hot sand and quiet ocean only.
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173200
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Rosey streaks through the city, dragging a flooded umbrella.
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173200
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I’m not dog-like in any sexy manner, like a Wolf Man who kills livestock and lurks in the shadows on the outer fringes of society, mouth bloodied at the tips, and waking up as a fully functioning human naked in some field. Instead, I lurk among rows of cu
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173262
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Her fingers scampered over the table, practicing the deft stitching of the basilar artery.
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173296
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He brought me kisses from New York.
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173240
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"As the thing lurches upright, I can see now that it is an old woman with snake eyes… a dead old woman with snake eyes and peeling flesh. She is putrid and maggoty. She is coming right at us. She is my mother."
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17311112
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The shop is swarming with little women.
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173142
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There existed within them the deeper perdition, of course, the perdition of culture, American culture, the 21st Century suburban version, made up of Strip Malls From Hell.
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173111
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A procession of our somber youth—
stoned and stunned and
broken beyond repair—viewed
the boy carved of putty.
The mortician painted him
stuffed him, presented him
to us, the semi-living.
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17311211
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and watch the bird play and squirrel play/
and the twitching of cottontail noses
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173112
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Their dump was like no other in the country. It was bigger than the rest. And, unlike their innumerable competitors, this dump—which sat packed with trash on the surf of an ocean—was organized with care.The Elks took pride in their dump. Three…
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173151
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I can't find my way back to the library. I've heard of this happening, that if you leave even for just one day and for a very good reason, as good a reason as mine, you may not find your way back. Now why should this be so? I do not understand this library. It houses…
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173185
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“Hey, Buddy,” he says finally, “you were supposed to make a right back there”, and I can see his eyes flash as he reads my ID card on the dash...
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173188
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173130
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You see the ocean for the first time on our honeymoon. Your large feet dig deep into the muddy sands of the Maryland coastline as your blue eyes swell at the infinite water before you. I wrap my…
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173195
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Now that I am dead, my god will fight your god...
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173142
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when down the street/ a female cat/ yowls with the force/ of a red light blazing/ in an alley.
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173154
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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
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173185
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On the river he rows a dory. It is filling with water. There is a rectangular hole in the bottom.
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173100
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Some things you never forget, especially if they are repeated frequently. I cannot hear her voice saying those words, now, I have forgotten its timber, its pitch, but I remember the words.
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173120
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Benton showed her his old room, a shrine of old posters and records. But it had been cleaned out, made to look like a guest room. “Kiss me,” Benton said. “April.” “That was just a name, so don't get any…
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173100
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They had a vague idea of how lips were to be used. Lips that parted feverishly, lips that burned. Lips - old, but still amateur. It was no wonder, considering that 'boys from good families' would never dream of even looking at a woman, let alone kiss her!
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