1712 12 12
|
a poem about things exploding/burning down/scattering for miles.
|
171297
|
I remember meeting you many years later.
|
171252
|
Does the stuff at the dollar store really work as well as the stuff at Calvin Klein?
|
171200
|
As airplanes fly low over her children playing in the kiddie pool on the front lawn, Maureen learns something else about her father's new house that lies in the flight path of an international airport.
|
171297
|
a girl with wolves, dogs and a bear
|
171220
|
In traffic I cry bloody murder, but my bloodlust subsides once I'm in Valhalla. Chip Whitehead wants to see me on the 22nd floor before I start my shift. Charlie and the other suits have been looking at me funny since I sent Chip a memo suggesting the recession…
|
171264
|
This Tippy’s name was Cheryl — something both of them were so far not committing to paper or saying. Unusual in a salesman, she thought. He is insincere and intends to sell her something.
|
171176
|
The pristine Hudson's/waters dance in the dark of/the East River's rinse.
|
17112312
|
The skin will stay but you won’t see it,/
camouflaged by creases, tags, and curious/
deposits of renegade fat and pigment.
|
171100
|
That was the summer that Christine Nelson owned me.
It felt like catching the flu. I had it bad. I was about to turn seven, and it was my first time, and it was bad. A love like that, I don’t know, it’s not a love supreme. It wasn’t completely cru
|
171110
|
What else, H, is there to say about heartbreak? What else could it be but our hands, cupped as if holding water against our chests, then broken into halves. Or the picture of this one, pretending to load a gun. Or this one, soaked in smoke—asking for
|
171165
|
go ahead
stick one more morsel
into that piehole
|
1711128
|
fetal position can make a man seem small. harmless. like the child your womb won't carry...
|
171100
|
Rosea plays a bohemian plainsong for the cosmonauts among us, while her fuzzy apple hips spit glitter, spin strobes: pink shades of pantyline flicker; lip-licked neon hues scrape strings in B sharp, a gloomy clue.
|
171163
|
I love going fast. The last bank I robbed didn't know what hit them.
|
171100
|
I had enough judgment, anger and vengefulness from the people around me in the steel town of Pueblo, Colorado, where I was growing up. I didn’t need more from my God.
|
17112112
|
It chases other newborns down and eats them.
|
171142
|
Something was changing.
We could sense it in the circling air. A loss of stillness - and we'd been still for so long.
|
171163
|
It started like this: just him saying, "Nice to meet you, Marie," and me, while I just said his own name back to him, at the same time thinking, "I want you to take me to a hotel room someday, Frederick. I think I’ll like the way you’d make me feel...
|
1711108
|
The next time I see you, I’m going to pretend you’re a stranger, and that I’m meeting you for the first time.
|
171033
|
two roses her eyes
aqua-blue
no, blue-green
|
171044
|
A tough enough signal to read under the best of meteoric circumstances, this is one maybe I'll keep on thinking about. I might be able to make something everlasting out of this crazy shamble for love after all. I no longer…
|
171051
|
I have a tablet called, The Shit List...
|
171044
|
The figure eight will fall on its side. Become infinity.
|
17101110
|
44 miles out
the gauntlet of Red River pines
cast shadows pointing north.
|
1710104
|
I do this when I think of you. Today we took the first steps towards you're never here.
|
1710105
|
as I imagine only you canyou're the ocean on fire before anyone else hasbroken that ancient seal, or simply taken the first icy plunge.You can eatall the bitterfruit there is, but that stilldoesn't make theworld a more hatefulplace. Only people…
|
171044
|
It was like watching one of those vintage eighteen-frames-per-second films of someone trying to open a stuck umbrella.
|
1710167
|
It's time, more than anything
|
171077
|
fuck you Charles Bukowski
go cry in your eggs in a Jersey diner
|
