1606 8 6
|
My wife tells me/your dog has vomited/
on the carpet AGAIN!
|
160675
|
He plucks the feathers and winds thread to simulate an insect’s torso.
|
160688
|
If I saw a little old man out there, a fellow with a hunched up back, I shouldn't be afraid.
|
160641
|
A tanka/haiku poem about grandma getting run over by a reindeer.
|
1606115
|
“I’m tired, Art” The Virgin said. She was already curled up beside their dog,
Lance.
|
160644
|
“Gladys Miller!” the dog shouted. “Live a little. TiVo it.”
|
1606106
|
The trees would answer with a creak and a crackle.
Fall was near, a rotten apple.
|
160588
|
It is the first day of summer, a blue-green afternoon, and we sit beneath the English oak, Quercus robur. Everything has at least two names. It is the first day of summer, or the last day of something else.
|
160543
|
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.
|
160586
|
remembering Cahokia, a place we rent near the water's edge, for we dare not enter
|
160574
|
I was just sitting in the corner, stirring my stories with a straw that sucked characters out of bars.
|
160597
|
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.…
|
160587
|
It doesn't take a genius to figure how he sank, in the drink, like Jeff Buckley. Like a stone.
|
1605116
|
A pinprick breaks the black/
and pins the spin of constellations/
around its still point.
|
160512
|
An yet we are all inmates...
|
1605126
|
Defy the impulse to grow beyond/
your means and the means of the/
place where you lie at night.
|
160541
|
A heart which is alive despite everything in the world that wants to deaden it.
|
1605118
|
None of this is real, he says, and the path slopes down to a house that is possibly haunted. One always looks in such windows, one cannot not look at the predictable detritus of another's failure, a queer satisfaction, a fairy's dust. But no, not real, none of it. And…
|
160511
|
Later, your father stared, confused, at the empty spot where the wall paint layers ended in the shape of the old machines. He stopped coming in.
|
160521
|
You were gone, long gone, and I could no longer smell your scent as I walked through the empty house. I couldn't bring myself to unpack the boxes, and they lurked like a forest of overgrown drab Legos.
|
1605128
|
fetal position can make a man seem small. harmless. like the child your womb won't carry...
|
160510
|
I was shooting baskets in the driveway when the Mexican kid delivered the groceries. He drove in fast and loud . . .
|
160500
|
In order to be a catalyst for catharsis — which is just a fancy way of saying agent of change — you have to be willing to condition yourself into something partially inhuman. Only something on the very outskirts of humanity…
|
1605118
|
He liked to take pictures of her, and she liked to pose. It made her horny, she said.
|
16051513
|
I asked the hospice nurse about maggots.
|
160495
|
as distant lights
all must shiver
before joining in
a Milky Way river
|
160420
|
I was ashamed of my conscience.
|
160463
|
Morning's first blush, their world in repose. Sated, drained, spent; …
|
16041610
|
A figure left the building.
|
160465
|
She stood there with her back to me and her dress around her ankles.
|
