1680 7 4
|
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?
|
168075
|
The Devil and the Holy Ghost played Euchre on Friday nights. The Devil drank rock and rye and the Holy Ghost went for Miller Lite. What just irks hell out of me, pardon my French, the Ghost began, is that nobody knows who the fuck I am.
|
168056
|
IN nature, it's hard to find a straight line. Stand on a beach. Look out to sea. There out far you might think you see a line where the sky comes down to join. Where two fields of blue meet. But where you're not quite sure for the line is a blur there. You…
|
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…
|
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.
|
167933
|
A small bar of glycerin soap floated in the sink full of bloody water . . .
|
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
|
167955
|
there should be a word for it.
|
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.
|
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.
|
167863
|
"Thanks for the wild sex--let me know if you have any problems with the lint trap."
|
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
|
167853
|
Little mercy, ten fingers, ten toes.
|
167822
|
my mouth is open, ready to bite your tiny toes
|
167800
|
Everybody knew Billy Miller. He had messy hair and crooked teeth that he hid behind a thin-lipped smile. He and his friend Jimmy Rodgers, who everyone called Cock on account of his red hair that stuck up like a comb, were inseparable. They liked to ste
|
167876
|
“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.”
|
167864
|
As black as his socks with a hole in them she used to sew while watching. The octopus has three hearts you know. Yes, No and Maybe.
As black as inkpots, inkjets, as black as typewriter ribbons and the Gutenberg press, as black as the ink of a trillion
|
