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I remember when I first came to California, I heard a mockingbird sitting in a tree, calling out in the names of other birds. It was down in L.A. I was staying at my brother's house in San Gabriel and driving in every day to the campus at UCLA to go to s
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I bit her ear and /
it was burnt toast
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I didn’t give her enough skin. The world will always hurt her.
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Do you remember who I am yet?
I remember the first time you made love to me. It appears I was one of the lucky ones … it wasn’t in a car, it wasn’t in your Dad’s boat, underwater, or any other weird place you've written about. It was actual
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A pinprick breaks the black/
and pins the spin of constellations/
around its still point.
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But here it was, Friday afternoon with Deborah checking MySpace for interesting bulletins or messages before she made some weekend plans, finding a blog from Fred posted that same morning with two simple sentences.
"I know. I've known for a long time.
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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…
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One day when they were sitting on the curb together at 4th Street and Mendocino Avenue in Santa Rosa and Joe was calling out to passers by in a singsong voice, “Spare change for cigs,” she had persuaded them that they should try to join the circus.
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I followed the curve of the etched Koi, its filigree scales arcing across a taut midriff toward the indent of her pierced navel, where a collection of water lilies drifted on the surface of her skin.
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Even word dancers need rest.
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TV and power cord valorized in dust,/
wires and digital guts unimpaired, I’d guess . . .
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The old man sat in the run-down shack, nursing his lobol-weed tea, and cursing the bitter cold wind outside.
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The door shuts slowly to something that’s allegedly mine
and it sits there and waits until I come home
just like you.
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Can you see the rut? Can you dig your fingers into the flesh?
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Cézanne sags during a moment of paint. There is an umbrella in the room whose surface collects his thoughts. Outside, in the rain, the grass and garden smell strongly of spring. Fruit litters the table. Light through the window writhes in conversation with shape and…
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Excelsior: A Poem in Nine Parts Preface: Musings on a Lighthouse by an Eastern Isle (Suggested by a painting by Mario Larrinaga) It is bright tonight; this plain, displaced from place In Time's broad flight, yields…
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Dreams will show you a life that might or might not be yours, but you better believe that they've got to serve when you're asked to come up with a story."--Frank Baron, the night he made bail and left town1. First Blood in Dreams Long Ago The…
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As if to ask if I'm okay, as if to ask aren't we the same two on this wet December morning as ever, as yesterday, a month ago even, she shoots me a look as I stand by the bed, then her sane mild brown eyes…
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I keep my love for you in me, /
like the egg of a worm,
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Trisha dreamed of being a Playboy Bunny since the days she still had buck-teeth and fried egg boobs. She blu-tacked page threes above her bed-head and had me snap topless Polaroids till they littered the floor. She told me to imagine she had 36DDs and per
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"Why, before the summer has passed
You won’t remember her name. . ."
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I pointed, trying to keep a rising frisson of alarm from my voice.
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We're doomed as a species. The Zorks are coming to eat us. It all started when Joey Cacciatore, the dumbest crook in the history of the world, got Veetzers swarming like blowflies in 1972, and thereby ensured the upcoming…
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It doesn't take a genius to figure how he sank, in the drink, like Jeff Buckley. Like a stone.
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Content may contain ordinary, everyday, and all around average happenings.
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Allie didn't share that moment with Jim. That moment he spoke about whenever they made new friends as a couple— that moment he planned to recount at their engagement party.
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...She smells like Mentholadium all the time which is one of them old lady smells. When I get up there, she says, “I’ll scrub the bee jesus out of you little girl,” and by God, I have a purty good bath that day.
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