1629 21 7
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Once, asked what time it was, M. replied, "Eternity."
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16291412
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You call your wife. “Do you see what I see?” you ask.
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162933
|
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162800
|
Sora collapsed on the wall to Azure’s squeals. She felt her arm lifted up and placed around Azure’s shoulder.
|
162876
|
In human rights, a man and a woman may marry and bring forth a family. It is a civil right in the U.S. but not a human right (as far as I know) to raise a child singly without the knowledge of the other parent.
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162800
|
Normally, Aidan looked like a guy. A highly feminine guy, but still a guy. He wore his hair in a buzz cut (a turn on of mine), wore tight clothes, worked out so he had a bit of muscle, but nothing over the top. And he was my guy.
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162865
|
One of the poems in my collection, One Day Tells its Tale to Another, published December 16, 2012. Available on Amazon. My first book!
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162886
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remembering Cahokia, a place we rent near the water's edge, for we dare not enter
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162874
|
There is a rock somewhere with the truth of the sky in it, the glitter of otherworldly charms that falsify the ugliness of the literal.
|
162832
|
“Hi. I’m Rita Bates,” I had said. “Can I sit here?
The boy who introduced himself as Thomas told me I could, so I did, and his friends all introduced themselves in turn. Around the table there was Bev, Ernest, someone whose name started with an F – maybe
|
162883
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the sound of ashes/ being poured in the kitchen
|
162864
|
"...innocent butterflies of pollution
trapped and entangled,"
|
162821
|
Ug seemed kinda down in the dumps so, uncharacteristically for a male hominid, I asked him why he looked so glum.
“Ug no find nice girl,” he said, poking a stick in the dirt.
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162811
|
When we started plans for the party, none of us wanted Larry to die, most of all Larry himself.
Actually, when we first started plans for the party, Larry wasn’t dying.
|
162874
|
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.
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1628127
|
strung from her window to a tree
|
162851
|
I want you closeI want to feel youinside me,softening me untilmy borders are blurredand I'm hardly breathing,my heart swellingso big itbrings me to my knees,I want to know thepain of losing youeach time youclose your eyes andgo to sleep anddream of someone else,I want to…
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162897
|
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…
|
162896
|
Everyone loves a story of love
unrequited.
But what about the stories
of the unrequited lovee?
|
162865
|
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,
|
162823
|
["Mea Culpa" means: I don't care what you think, sorry is when I feel like making you hear me say it.]
|
162700
|
Mayumi could see as far as her eyes could, all the buildings hugged by the trees. Roads stretching outward as if reaching for something far away.
|
16271010
|
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…
|
162763
|
“I mean it, Hanna. I don't want you to.” But his leg felt carved away where her head had lain. One stupid thing jostling another for attention. He was afraid that if she touched him again, he'd have her on the ground.
|
1627106
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The trees would answer with a creak and a crackle.
Fall was near, a rotten apple.
|
16271211
|
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162765
|
Cézanne sags during a moment of paint. There is an umbrella in the room whose surface collects his thoughts. Outside, in the rain, the grass and garden smell strongly of spring. Fruit litters the table. Light through the window writhes in conversation with shape and…
|
162641
|
On the way home, “Friendly honk,” he said.
|
16262111
|
The lungs forsake their love of breath. The arms/
resist throwing off the small weight of sheets.
|
162685
|
Not believing enough in God he was made unfortunate. Neither cursed nor damned; merely little things. Missing rides, running out of toilet paper, showing up late. Until, suspecting someone he had overlooked, he chose a God. The wrong One it transpired. Things…
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