1623 17 9
|
Words darken with smut and irony over time.
|
162211
|
Then he took the tune out to Ben Clarone land. The horn was beautiful, if leaky. His fingers flew over the keys.
|
1622179
|
Shakespeare had red hair / Van Gogh never painted a nude
|
162222
|
|
16221712
|
There are 1.45 million readers
of poetry in the US and
2.9 million poets. The odds
of an audience are bad.
|
162265
|
Santa’s stuck/you say? In the chimney of course./The lard-arsed ol’bastard struggling
|
16221011
|
She left knives and hot pots with handles akimbo. Like a guardian angel, he turned them in. Like an ungrateful Eve, she turned them back out.
|
162233
|
Things looked way too normal to be normal. The cold, gliding black eyed swans never once straying far from each other's wake, the cute blue jeaned lovers everyone secretly watched carefully picking their trickling way over small odd rocks and…
|
162200
|
Tadd Dameron once described himself as “the most misplaced musician in the business,” and one needn’t call the missing persons bureau to determine that he may have been right.
|
16221210
|
My little friend is no bigger than a minute. An even five feet tall, if that.
|
162292
|
Cat's ass was on fire. The roof was scorching hot. Her clothes were in a pile by the door that led to the roof. She was sitting next to the ventilation duct, her hands outstretched behind her, her knees bent before her. Jim was standing in front of…
|
162253
|
“There’s no real freedom in this world. But a car and the open road is close enough for government work.”
|
162200
|
At 7:30 that evening my brother knocked on Parker's front door. When I went to let him in, sweat was running off Darrell's head like he'd been hit by a water balloon. The air was absolutely unmoving, and there was the smell of tar from the asphalt in th
|
162221
|
The Mojave Desert remembers Ron Paul
With tattered billboards
Scraped and clawed by vehement dust
|
162200
|
"Look at the grime on those curtains. Not fit for an Emperor. Pull them down. Put up fresh new ones. Not a spot."
"Oh! Look at this throne. All uneven legs. The gems are not shining. The gold looks dull. Fix it, fix it, fix it!"
|
162243
|
|
162164
|
Sleep never fades away quickly. It has to be shaken off, layer by layer, before reality can reach you. That is the way every morning works for me. There are some days when I will sit at the edge of my bed for almost an hour, shedding remnants of dreams
|
162198
|
She wonders if he will do the dishes. He said that he would, but that doesn’t mean anything. He said he would do them last week, said he would save money, said he would come home last night. He didn’t do any of those things, either.
|
162132
|
it felt fucking awesome at that moment, in that way only little things can feel huge and life affirming
|
162163
|
someone left graffiti on the billboard
over: "God's a hard
act to follow"; the one that made the news
|
162163
|
It was only a dream. No one died, nor were they even harmed. So horrifying!
|
162121
|
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.
|
162196
|
I tell myself I should have known. You were always absence.
|
1621106
|
Eight days before her 50th birthday they were married in their soft new pajamas, holding hands on his bed in the hospital. The pastor and witnesses wore protective hospital gowns and gloves; the patient was in isolation once again. A special dispensation from the head…
|
162131
|
Warning: Open and read before making any dumb-ass New Year's resolutions.
|
162100
|
I was awakened by a disturbing dream. He was no longer with me and I felt afraid. Everything was cloudy, almost blurry. I couldn't see much in front of me, but I knew for sure he wasn't there with me. Then he said the words I feared the most “I don't love you.…
|
162195
|
The instant you remember
gratitude
with enough focus to spring free its power...
|
162100
|
Still as the knife on the counter there still. Like mothballs in a chest. One with clear bags and newspaper clippings and your scarf inside it. The baby girl could put a mothball in her mouth and suck it like a penny. The way too close to a light bulb bur
|
162163
|
—Frank, how is your sex life?
|
162000
|
It was like Azure was dictating the tempo of a song. Fluid in motion, and a story told.
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