1627 5 2
|
Send me a secret story in a song just for me
|
162743
|
I'd never seen a dead person before, let alone one that was living just
seconds earlier.
|
162755
|
awoke in confusion, fear and hurt never seen before that day a year past
|
162733
|
Quimby’s eyes lit up. “Oh, lads, there must be a thousan’ ways to die at sea! I’ve made th’ Atlantic passage a good many time; lemme recount some manners of death I’ve witnessed with mine own eyes.”
|
162731
|
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.
|
1627118
|
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…
|
162742
|
I feel about the universe/
as Abrahamics are supposed/
to feel about their Yahweh, /their God,
and their Allah:/ I am in fear,
I am in awe, /I am in love.
|
162755
|
It is said that lovers find lips in the dark through secret brain circuitry.
|
162754
|
We were wild, medieval magpies,
sweaty and sweet and selfish; and so much more
than we were before I lit that first stick of spice,
|
1627127
|
Essences of bull and bison,//
stag and horse, illuminate/
the stony underground.
|
162710
|
Even when the sun is gone and things get dark, usually the moon comes to reflect some light of hope until a new dawn can emerge
|
162720
|
Summer nights in Boston, old cast iron streetlights.
|
162780
|
|
162721
|
He finished the omelet and started in on the short stack. He drowned the cakes in syrup.
-Never can have enough syrup.
|
162799
|
|
162701
|
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.
|
162762
|
Sometimes one person's shelter is another person's storm.
|
162786
|
in late fall, Rome, sans wind, sans rancor,
sans sand or rain, sans hate ...
|
162645
|
the beeps, rhythmic,
tell us that you're still with us
|
162600
|
“A shibboleth is a test—a way to separate da wheat from da chaff that's as old as the Bible, but as new as the latest trend in men's fashions,” Gus says.
|
162600
|
Her fever spreads through lines of a plaid mini, over burnt milk, darkened to yellow. Fingers explore fabric folds up and into the lost dimensions of logic.
|
162687
|
graves left or graves lost, into silence death sinks:/it's leaving the living that leaves us such pain.
|
162676
|
“Now we lay you in your grave
There was no way you could be saved
You hate our lord Jesus and he can tell
Which is why you will burn in hell.”
|
1626177
|
a song jolts my memory . . .
|
162675
|
I got a sixth of a cow in the freezer
That’s not meant to be just a teaser
I guess all I’m sayin’
Come on home and you’ll be stayin’
Cause I got a sixth of a cow in the freezer
Got a rack and a half of ribs
I ain’t tellin’ you no fibs
|
1626122
|
There is nothing like your first time, and by that I am referring of course to the first time you purchased a 45.Going to a record store and buying a 45 is a uniquely Boomer experience. Because, alas, there are no more 45s. Or, for that matter, record stores. The…
|
162666
|
some days are
minotaur shit on your tongue/
smokestacks dumping acid rain on your already thinning hair
your eyelashes pinned in upside down, backward/you give wrong shaving directions to the mirror
|
1626138
|
She bought a dog with short legs to make her own legs look longer.
|
16261211
|
The cataclysm of all those photons/
mad to be a part of you
|
162600
|
Over the stained fence the spectres flew and that is where the rain was turning colder and colder in the time when the trees had become mostly bare.
|
