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I reach into my pocket for my keys and discover the cough drops Iput there a week ago have melted. Now my fingers are sticky. And I don’t have my keys.
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Content may contain ordinary, everyday, and all around average happenings.
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The last time Cyrus rode in a train’s passenger car, he came home a dead man.
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The TV projects from an insect arm. It has the face of my ex-husband, smiling and void. I like to set small fires and inhale them.
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Little stuff at first: mistaking their dog for a cat, attempting to start the car with a bar of soap, or using a newspaper to dry the dishes. Lately, he’d been slipping: calling her by his mother’s name during sex, berating his boss for lackluster profit
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My lipline's retreated since Tuesday. I'll toss those Hazel Bishop reds, (lipstick on shriveled lips rattles men, scares little children) skip Woolworth's cosmetics counter, save backaching, ankleswelling pondering of powders, rouges, …
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Once upon a time there was a Vietnamese restaurant. And then there were two, and four, and eight...
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"My ex Maxine claimed red wine was the healthy alcohol choice. When we were married and I still had money she drank the expensive stuff, as if drinking Chateau Montrose 2005 instead of two buck chuck made her any less of a wino. She would have been better
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He grew up needing an enemy, his class warfare instincts kindled by the death of his father in the labor dispute and bolstered by the readings of Steinbeck, Lawrence, Sinclair and others, and the college-bound students who were particularly bothered by Pi
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“Would you look at that one!” my father said.
“Who did she know?” my mother asked.
“Who did she blow?” my father said loudly, and burst out laughing. I laughed too, although I didn't know why.
My mother shot him one
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1682 0 0
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You and I will never meet. You will never even know I existed. Even in dreams you will never imagine me. Someone told me once that your sleeping mind cannot conjure up new faces. It just spits out all the ones you’ve ever seen and that’s it. That’s it.
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If I should wake/
before I die,/
just shoot me through/
the one good eye.
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I wake up on the edge of the mattress, teetering. The dog is looking at me funny.
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He laughs and runs just like the other boys even though he doesn’t have a father now, just his mom.
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My mother was Irish as Paddy's pig. So all her family. Lovely people they were. Also, seldom seen among the Folk; stone cold sober. My father's family; Bavarian German. Bavaria's the wrong side of the German tracks. Frankfort people laugh at Bavarians as people in…
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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,
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They are all sleeping, but I know better. I will keep watch and if he comes tonight I will be alert and ready. When he arrives he'll see the slack mouths, the graceless sprawls, hear the grunts, snorts and snores of the other women and then he'll sense me. My eyes will…
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The sound built up, louder and louder causing birds and insects to fly into the air. Then it stopped.
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You look at people
and despise them all.
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"Every generation is a new generation, isn't it? What's so different about your generation?"
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["GET UP, GET GET, GET DOWN ... 9-11'S A JOKE IN *your* TOWN!"]
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I bit her ear and /
it was burnt toast
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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.
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I dream of benzene rings/
and polymer shrouds
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Her head was free from restraint...
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I try to enjoy my bookbut the mannequins keep tapping at the windowWhen I look up they vanish Outsidefibreglass clouds are kept in placeby invisible wires——Sometimes the mannequins …
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Each day, they trot the coiffed/
and painted cadavers across the stage.
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