1641 4 5
|
the beeps, rhythmic,
tell us that you're still with us
|
164100
|
“There goes that slut Kerri Stanton,” the immense woman behind the counter chuckled to her patron. “Who the hell does she think she is?”
|
164141
|
Third time that day, he was on me. On me like bees to a flower (or flies on shit, he'd correct me, no doubt). Sucking sweet nectar and breathing that breath — damn that breath — 'round my head, in my ear, pestering, bugging, like a bee he annoyed me.
B
|
164174
|
I was just sitting in the corner, stirring my stories with a straw that sucked characters out of bars.
|
164145
|
The last time Cyrus rode in a train’s passenger car, he came home a dead man.
|
164155
|
awoke in confusion, fear and hurt never seen before that day a year past
|
164153
|
She came to my house late that last night and shucked off her things and we slow-danced to Cruisin' as beaded rainwater slid off her black hair to the floor. She smiled an almost quizzical smile as she drank me there with her eyes, as if I was some…
|
164100
|
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.
|
164164
|
. . . laughter and madness.
|
164120
|
[B]y fleeing the city to live on the outskirts of nowhere—a place so far off the beaten path that even Duras’s aging Mr. Andesmas would have felt isolated—I was of course trying to escape from none other than myself.
|
164180
|
|
164194
|
William Shakespeare (a surname that meant "wanker" back in the day, by the way)
|
164151
|
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…
|
164141
|
A tanka/haiku poem about grandma getting run over by a reindeer.
|
164154
|
...listening to the ache of errs our mouths had become.
|
164162
|
Chubby. Plump. Pudgy. Portly. Bulky. Buxom. Rotund. Ample. Hefty. Corpulent. Zaftig.
|
1641125
|
Beneath their feet bedrock stretched a hundred miles
|
164094
|
don't look at me honey, I fell on the table,
my hair is on fire, my heart is unstable
|
164052
|
Send me a secret story in a song just for me
|
164085
|
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…
|
164030
|
But Jeffrey was flabbergasted and couldn’t explain to the officer why he was speeding. All he could manage to get out as an attack of Tourette syndrome hit were nasty, flamboyant obscenities. The Alabama state trooper wasn’t amused.
|
164054
|
Published writers will tell you that the most important thing you can do as a beginning writer is to know your markets! So this month, we'll talk about two of the markets open to you and your riveting but as yet unpublished prose -- Fling Magazine and Clubhouse…
|
1640177
|
a song jolts my memory . . .
|
164042
|
How hard it is to pretend to be someone else. Alone, together, in the silence... I thought about how you must really like me to act quite like that. I wanted to hold your hand and read the unsent love letters.
|
164040
|
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
|
1640122
|
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…
|
164077
|
They blew in the doorway of the café at the French Hotel like two sparrows chasing each other. Their wings down in the dust, unheeding any danger in their hunger for each other. I knew the man who was about to become her husband, so maybe this was her las
|
164020
|
Summer nights in Boston, old cast iron streetlights.
|
164021
|
Last night Jim taught me how to catch forks. Meaning, he taught me how to throw them. But he called it catching forks. It was late, and we were low down 3rd street, south of the Bay Bridge, the baseball stadium, all the people and cars, on top of a warehouse. There were a…
|
164063
|
The Assistant is lost again in a grid city. Again she feels disconnected from the world. Where she is the sound has been switched off.
|
