1680 4 2
|
It's 6:45 a.m. A gritty, mundane sort of magic pervades the air at "Valentine’s" in the Hamilton Hotel.
|
168021
|
Slipshod shoes were the first sign of a meltdown. Sometimes she could see it coming. A prickly gentleman washing his clothes on a Thursday afternoon. One week he’s fine. Nothing wrong with owning a sour face. The next Thursday, his shoes don’t match.
|
168098
|
Everybody called her The Crier because from time to time we would hear her crying.
|
168074
|
The Judge waited for the perfect wave.
|
168066
|
israeli flares light gaza/ casting incandescent nudity/ upon jumbled puzzle piece buildings.
|
168099
|
She may never know and it sureis a small world. She may neverknow and they have a list. She maynever know, I'm very grateful.She may never know and I couldhave sworn we were getting along justfine. I refused to say goodbye. I am still wearing those…
|
168021
|
The story itself is not much longer than a snippet. What is a snippet anyway?
|
168033
|
A small bar of glycerin soap floated in the sink full of bloody water . . .
|
167963
|
"Thanks for the wild sex--let me know if you have any problems with the lint trap."
|
167921
|
“They say she lives alone out there.” “What, like out in the woods?” “Not like way back in a cabin or anything, but in a little house out there off the road. I'm not even sure she has a car.” “What, does she…
|
167900
|
And it's a tough thing
to become a father,
a contradiction;
guiding a child to avoid the things
that you know about so well.
|
16791712
|
There are 1.45 million readers
of poetry in the US and
2.9 million poets. The odds
of an audience are bad.
|
1679126
|
forced to submit/
to reasonableness//
and universal healthcare.
|
167952
|
Send me a secret story in a song just for me
|
167911
|
Each step you take on the pitchEach mile driven downEach closed exit of highway Blocked avenues of importanceBoarded up HammeredNailed shutPeople and places and things You can't get to anymoreThe knife and the needle The black and the…
|
167974
|
Once again there's too much to handle and
no space to process
|
1679116
|
I write poems as if language matters.
|
16792311
|
Every Monday you brought your Sunday finest to the bus stop...
|
1679117
|
Except with the language I was born to./
Occasionally, with painters and collagists-//
dead now, typically- who can’t voice/
opposition to my misappropriations.
|
1679102
|
And I don't know how long it will be until she comes outside and figures it all out.
Figures me out.
|
167951
|
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…
|
167961
|
I do not know what zinzins is, what a zinzins is, who zinzins is.
I do not want to know
|
167976
|
Despite what the bible says, Shadrach and Meshach had no third brother named Abednego. To pay for his cello lessons, Yo-Yo Ma worked the subways of New York as a busker. Just chill. After Sal went into witness protection, he yearned for a job at the art…
|
167963
|
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.
|
167922
|
Remembering you is easy
We do it every day,
When little Mike and Joey
Ask when the hell is Daddy ever coming home to play?
|
167942
|
Had this been a film, I’d have seen you at once. Extreme close-up: my finger on the green button that opens the door to the park. Long shot: my leaving my bike at the entrance. Slow shot: my walking down the narrow stone path.
|
1679179
|
Words darken with smut and irony over time.
|
167864
|
His face was creased with sadness the first time in the room and he danced his tai chi like a young man half his age, and laughed, like headtrippers do, from the neck up.
|
1678148
|
an undercurrent of fear is running through my community
|
1678178
|
When I was young and self-born in religion my aunts, uninterested in being washed in the Blood of Christ, called me Preacher Boy. I didn't pay them any attention. It was fine by me, I said, if they wanted to sit around and paint their toenails . . .
|
