1707 8 6
|
My wife tells me/your dog has vomited/
on the carpet AGAIN!
|
170742
|
THE man in the tent with the stick points to the chart on the wall and says to us all: the stats point to the end of the war by the end of the fall. A just war, not just oil. Just then Allah's shadow comes over the scene. He's here to stiffen his troops with some …
|
170733
|
eleven o'clock spills
despair all over
our bedspread
|
170700
|
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.
|
170765
|
She’s not coming today. She didn’t come yesterday either.
|
170764
|
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.
|
170644
|
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…
|
170684
|
We brought oxygen with us because we knew, everyone knows, there is no air on Mars. Everyone told us this as they waved goodbye back on Earth. Jay's mom even said, “Goodbye, honey, have a nice time and remember, there's no air on Mars. Are you aware of that?”…
|
17062312
|
The skin will stay but you won’t see it,/
camouflaged by creases, tags, and curious/
deposits of renegade fat and pigment.
|
17062111
|
The lungs forsake their love of breath. The arms/
resist throwing off the small weight of sheets.
|
1706139
|
I don’t remember much about kindergarten.... The teacher’s name was Mrs. Halverson. She was nice.
|
170682
|
Mom wraps a bulky-knit scarf around my face and over my mouth. She tightens it into a big knot in back of my collar.
|
170688
|
Light slunk in from under a door, but just a sliver.
|
1706167
|
It's time, more than anything
|
1706128
|
fetal position can make a man seem small. harmless. like the child your womb won't carry...
|
170600
|
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.
|
170601
|
This time, he didn’t admire the fish for very long. He was close to shore and tossed it up on the rocks. Before the fish could flop its way back to the water, Quentin lobbed a broad stone at its head.
|
170660
|
We may not be capable of even trying to appreciate the fact of mortality until we are somewhat older—let's say 18 years old. But, from the age of 18 until we die—and die we will; we know that—we have the opportunity to spend some time thinking abou
|
170533
|
two roses her eyes
aqua-blue
no, blue-green
|
17051911
|
Girl with glasses and
skinny fingers
playing with wires
|
170552
|
This is Peter’s office. The room is small, and the wood paneling is painted white. Light colors, Peter has been told, make a room appear larger.
|
170511
|
King's splendid stronghold Pressing down the earth below Broken by the grass
|
170594
|
Creep up behind me one day and prick my skin. I promise you won’t draw blood – for it is ink that will spurt from my veins.
|
170543
|
Prabo was late.
It wasn’t like him, I thought, sitting on the steps of the Galle Face Hotel, the Indian Ocean pounding the beach abutting the nearby Galle Face Green and spraying fine mist everywhere. Or at least it didn’t seem like him.
|
1705148
|
Little tech puppies, well compensated for code/
that outsourced laborers will realize in supercheap,/
superchipped gewgaws, sip artisan beers
|
170544
|
When I got that brain tumor I hallucinated this crazy doctor. Dr. Doug. He came into my…
|
170543
|
I can hear the echoes clearly. They are distinct and crisp, almost as though they're all on exact trajectories to me from their final bounce, without any interference. Each sound, while unintelligible, seems to fit perfectly and expectantly into my ears
|
17052011
|
The nearsighted world/
puts on its lenses
|
170544
|
It was like watching one of those vintage eighteen-frames-per-second films of someone trying to open a stuck umbrella.
|
170577
|
fuck you Charles Bukowski
go cry in your eggs in a Jersey diner
|
