1726 11 8
|
He liked to take pictures of her, and she liked to pose. It made her horny, she said.
|
17251210
|
of placing the rope just so; of settling
the veil with care --
|
172500
|
The tiger-eye beads around her neck would wink at me like a nervous uncle sharing a secret with a child. They roll on her sternum like marbles. At night, on her nightstand, they whisper my secret to the patchouli-scented room. How long have they known?
|
172597
|
awfully evil decisions upstairs in your head that could come back to haunt you in your later years;I'm here to report your zooming about hair isn't really one of them. You have found the infernal wheel works in all four directions at once. Good for you.…
|
172594
|
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.
|
172545
|
The last time Cyrus rode in a train’s passenger car, he came home a dead man.
|
172510
|
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
|
172554
|
My old buddy Snoop Dogg saunters into the room, and we go through a handshake routine that takes over ten minutes, ending with double-backflips and some brotherly penis swordplay.
|
172511
|
Tension slipped from my grip on the dagger as my legs and faith fell apart.
|
172500
|
In the grip of a bad dream, she bolted awake, thinking she had heard the nightsounds of a tomcat crawling around her property.
It was some dreaded hour before dawn; she had no idea when. Her small, frail body was stiff, her breasts swollen and sore to
|
172541
|
A tanka/haiku poem about grandma getting run over by a reindeer.
|
172531
|
As a rule, she calls me whenever she’s waiting for her train or bus. ‘Hiya… How’s life-’ she starts off sweetly. Even though I should know better by now, I can only respond in the same old way. I’ll say: ‘Hi Kate!’. Next, I’ll try to te
|
1724238
|
To be honest, I've always wanted to be black
|
1724116
|
A pinprick breaks the black/
and pins the spin of constellations/
around its still point.
|
172486
|
Your laugh used to startle the nurses.
|
17241210
|
The kid with a testosterone chip
Instead of a brain
|
172442
|
I was raised in a big city in the slow South. I know a little about cross cultural dining and where Delta Blues collides with Sly Stone, Al Green, and Zeppelin. Dirty rice in the Dirty South. Fried chicken, collards, and pintos. Fried velveeta…
|
172422
|
|
172421
|
|
172422
|
...you should pick a VERY OLD millionaire. Very old, and NOT VERY WELL...
|
1724127
|
strung from her window to a tree
|
172486
|
My ex-girlfriends live in a pastel-drenched cabin on the edge of a hemlock forest in Canada somewhere,
|
172421
|
Sometimes it waited after dark, when everyone was asleep, and moved in slowly like a thief, working its way into all the ruwas, up everyone's nostrils, seemingly intent on making the people's mountain existence a troublesome one
|
172310
|
When Mt. St. Helens erupted, I knew that was the end of Bigfoot.
|
172377
|
It's important to make a sure sound. It's not impossible you know. It's just funny I suppose, like being in a dream of another dream. All these things could be mashed and tumbled together to make us one big clay hero, someone…
|
172300
|
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.
|
172300
|
Alysia tried to focus on what was important, but it was too much to bear. She was ready to dive down when a shot of wind blew past her, causing her and Megumi to lose control over their gliders.
|
17231310
|
Sin by Nonnie Augustine After my mother died, I met Aunt Shirley. I found her in dozens of snapshots piled in falling apart cardboard boxes we hauled down from the attic. Small girls, with huge bows bobby-pinned right on top of…
|
1723154
|
This cell the sole certainty,
all else steeped in mystery.
Why should we be here?
|
172312
|
An yet we are all inmates...
|
