1485 7 3
|
In every writer's room there is a bogeyman born in the closet, growing with every blot on the virgin sheet, feeding on the pain of writing, of solitude, the failure, the rage, the confusion, the helplessness, the fear, the humiliation. The narrower the…
|
148554
|
...listening to the ache of errs our mouths had become.
|
148553
|
Maybe you, citizen, should be a jerk. Jerks get where they are going. You, citizen, what about you? Handy, dandy, where’s the jerk? Conformists. Sheep. All of you, all of us, boiling out our radiators. Spending our day, our days, our lives in coope
|
148466
|
some answers are enough to make you cry or laugh yourself to death
|
148410
|
At last one of the men on the line bowed his head in a silent prayer for deliverance from what was about to come, then lifted his head and shouted loudly for his fellows to charge.
|
148494
|
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.
|
148464
|
Zinvushka Zokolovskaya and I first met at the local botanical garden.
|
148445
|
. . . it's all we ever want -- the holding.
|
148493
|
5 Narratives From The Field Museum (Naturally) 1. The American wife asked her French husband why it took him 50 words to ask which pass they would need. He said, “Because it does,” and they argued more, each in their own words. 2. The child…
|
148452
|
We slept beside dripping glaciers
people like us
We were never meant to be housed
contained, kept, petted, cleaned
We could only be gutted
You used us one time
and threw us out
people like us
We sprouted the wings of desire
by watchi
|
1484147
|
We flew./
In my dreams, I can fly.
|
148454
|
I said, “That bird is hungry.”
The sparrow was eying both of us
At our separate outside café tables
As it hopped around looking for crumbs.
Then it would look up at us
Expectantly.
|
148465
|
I wake up on the edge of the mattress, teetering. The dog is looking at me funny.
|
148444
|
It was like watching one of those vintage eighteen-frames-per-second films of someone trying to open a stuck umbrella.
|
148410
|
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
|
148467
|
Just take the mountain curves
as tightly to the inside and
as fast as surface conditions permit
and the road’s edge
|
148400
|
At street level there is a small arrow on which is printed “Museum of Numbers” that points up a long narrow staircase. There is a restaurant on the first floor. All the way up the stairs, the air is permeated with smell of fried foods
|
148451
|
Two summers later, the ritual began. Carol left her house at midnight, having served her husband and daughter a heavy dinner that left them caged in their sleep. She was like a thief working in reverse: she rose from bed with her husband’s first snore,
|
148463
|
Another bird hits the large plate glass patio doors as I am sipping my morning coffee.
|
148399
|
People usually take fonts for granted.
|
1483126
|
"Every generation is a new generation, isn't it? What's so different about your generation?"
|
148300
|
I figure maybe I’m mostly alone; they are all running down staircases or falling down fire escapes, some of them naked, some of them with towels, mostly probably naked though.
|
148363
|
My poems have appeared in four different publications; three have died shortly after they ran my stuff. Coincidence, or something more sinister?
|
148362
|
Two women sat at a small round table near the sidewalk waiting for the same man.
|
148364
|
A sunrise over the dark Atlantic, on a perfect beach day, tasting of salt and warmth and powdered sugar; of last, desperate kisses of youth, still shivering from delicious night, is beautiful.A sunrise over the dark ruins of Syria, on hot dusted stones, tasting of lament…
|
148389
|
Mr. Blumberg and I sat side by side on a small couch in the family room. He was watching a football game on TV.
|
148396
|
|
1483116
|
The days cut off by damp chill with every thought a different variety of protection.
|
148201
|
I have cherished the memory of that meal since and have sought out Indian restaurants all over the world. San later told me that the best Indian food was to be had in London
|
148287
|
You are an heiress to drunks.
The statues of your forefathers stagger,
memorialized by gravity, their faces
half-lit eternally, as they reach into refrigerators
for another something
to keep away the cold empty.
|
