1598 7 7
|
He laughs and runs just like the other boys even though he doesn’t have a father now, just his mom.
|
159822
|
...you should pick a VERY OLD millionaire. Very old, and NOT VERY WELL...
|
159874
|
Food is silly. Eating is silly. Yet the camaraderie of sharing a table is not silly. It is sacred. It becomes silly when the jello arrives.
|
159800
|
I'm subconsciously a sucker for guys who are no good for my
self-esteem. Or waistline.
|
1598148
|
Yes, he'll be quiet. Very quiet. He rocks himself, the ark, suddenly imagining water underneath him, over head, all around. Water, water, water—
|
1598104
|
"Nice one, sir," the toilet said.
|
159897
|
MOSAIC Your eyes coal-rimmed, busted, burned by betrayal. You and I, knee to knuckle, skinny with disorders and blurred around our edges. Challenged by our experience and the ash of past-love dusting the grate, the state, the…
|
159832
|
The night we broke into Bron-yr-Aur it was too cold to make love. I said I wasn't horny anyway. You put your hand on my forehead: Are you ill?
|
15981112
|
Tunnel hobos, all hootched up high, think a sign's all about super powers, mind reading, clairvoyance, dig?
|
159761
|
You look at people
and despise them all.
|
159711
|
Once upon a time in the days of old
There lived a poor tailor who- I am told-
Did brag that his daughter
Spun straw into gold!
|
15971911
|
Girl with glasses and
skinny fingers
playing with wires
|
159721
|
"For several days thinking they had found a dead man’s boot beside the highway..."
|
159764
|
Zinvushka Zokolovskaya and I first met at the local botanical garden.
|
159731
|
|
159721
|
She picked the fish out of the box leaving a pool of mucus and blood slowly congealing on the shelf and dripped it toward the kitchen table. Outside the wind lashed the tops of the poplar trees together and rain sprayed from the barn roof opposite.
|
159763
|
Let’s say you know so little about me. Like whose idea of a joke to name me Hideo for excellent male. Or why I hang out at triangle Park, ogling expatriates or crusty punks.
|
159730
|
white-gray mounds persist
|
159700
|
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.
|
1597127
|
strung from her window to a tree
|
159742
|
|
159780
|
|
159797
|
a girl with wolves, dogs and a bear
|
15971412
|
You call your wife. “Do you see what I see?” you ask.
|
159701
|
She overcomes herself on the day of the spectacle, clown paint, unmoving amid a rumble of trains and screens, video logs and snapshots, live blogs from phones wet with lotion. This is Tokyo. Facial masks. Bare flaking paint in streams. Stardust.
|
159786
|
Our afterlife depends upon//
what interesting shape
|
159692
|
The bus heads west on Route 36, toward the next stop – Howell, New Jersey. After driving ten minutes, and after crossing the tracks, the bus gets a flat.
|
15961010
|
As if to ask if I'm okay, as if to ask aren't we the same two on this wet December morning as ever, as yesterday, a month ago even, she shoots me a look as I stand by the bed, then her sane mild brown eyes…
|
1596126
|
"Every generation is a new generation, isn't it? What's so different about your generation?"
|
159653
|
All I wanted to know was: Am I coming close? You could have given me a clue. How was I to know how deep the scar ran? I always thought scars were superficial, but I was young, and willing – what did I know?
What would they have done if they had come
|
