1492 5 3
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Little mercy, ten fingers, ten toes.
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149231
|
If this is trouble, please call someone else.
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149211
|
Barbie wore only her clear pink heels...
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149263
|
My poems have appeared in four different publications; three have died shortly after they ran my stuff. Coincidence, or something more sinister?
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149260
|
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149233
|
By February, I had decided,
That you'd tear out my throat every morning
if it meant your favorite song would play from my neck.
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149220
|
Contemporary persecution of Christians takes on milder forms of torture like having to explain away something Pat Robertson said, or constantly having to hear about Fred Phelps picketing funerals because he happens to hate homosexuals.
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149221
|
They had a deal, she reminded him. If he didn’t want to wear a condom all the time, he’d have to help with her birth control.
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14922113
|
The virtuoso tortures a violin/
in homage to Paganini.
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149265
|
I got on the Greyhound Bus at 11 a.m. and sat by myself staring out the window. I could see the reflection of my own dark beard in the window, a 27 year-old man with a huge poem bursting my heart, gasping to get out into the bright lit-up world out there,
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149222
|
There’s a crack in the cosmos,
and pink is leaking through.
There’s a crack in the cosmos,
fix the sink, the toilet leak.
There are many cracks in the cosmos,
numerous. This is how time escapes.
Good grief, they’re going to suck the cream
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149231
|
I’m secretly hoping for a huge bouquet, a fruit basket, a pickle jar of urine in a lunch bag on my doorstep, even.
|
149285
|
collars of obedience /
discarded in the pyre /
with draft cards and bras
|
149264
|
But I had learned from ingesting Roberto’s glitter-eyed fear, it could make you never close enough, and then, never far enough away. And both at the same time.
|
149265
|
Going to the candy store at night in the section of town called Kalliope. Riding bike, trying to get there before it closed at ten. Getting candy at that little store with the glass containers and the rows and rows of candy. Getting milk there…
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149143
|
Except for the bathroom stalls—you know the one that goes “Here I sit all broken-hearted”—the only poetry in the house is composed by Hazel, recited to her fawning sycophants.
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149152
|
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.
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149110
|
That night we went out to shoot some pool at the pool hall over on Durant Avenue, which was above a bar called Kip’s. Rotten Bobby walked in with his own damn pool cue, which came broken down in two pieces. He carried it in a narrow felt-lined carrying
|
149122
|
Past the pavilion, past the factory, past the underside of the bridge where the surfers jimmy their sloppy fingers over the oil barrels.
|
149165
|
She stood there with her back to me and her dress around her ankles.
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149144
|
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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14912311
|
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1491106
|
|
149110
|
Even when the sun is gone and things get dark, usually the moon comes to reflect some light of hope until a new dawn can emerge
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149121
|
Boys start fires all the time— it's a rite of passage— so when your father gives you the task of setting fire to the family's trash, you don't mind, and when the flames ignite inside the old dishwasher he heaved into the woods behind the house, you…
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149166
|
The day came shyly up to me like a rolling orange thing. Perhaps of alien origin, but not if the Buddha of our foolish hopeless dreamer inside has anything to say about it. It said, pick me up. I did. It looked like forever on the inviting horizon with trees as…
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1491109
|
Cinema Verite’ is the best book of poems I have encountered since Matthea Harvey’s Modern Life
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149040
|
She wakes up sad. She can't shit. She spreads out the foil. no creases. folds it in half. She puts the stuff in the crease. holds a lighter under it. A zippo. then smokes it. Well smokes the smoke. It's like kissing god or the…
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149000
|
It was like Azure was dictating the tempo of a song. Fluid in motion, and a story told.
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14901612
|
A little poem about prison
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