1326 11 6
|
A pinprick breaks the black/
and pins the spin of constellations/
around its still point.
|
132640
|
“I’m making a dress,” she said, feeding the pages through the sewing machine.
He didn’t know how to answer. “Are those my books?”
|
132643
|
We all need a place to stay.
|
13262110
|
I approached him slowly. His voice was soft and raspy. He said, "Kneel down my son, I've been expecting you."
|
132621
|
The chipping sound started around the time Susannah reached puberty. Not all at once, it was just now and then at first.“What's that noise?” she'd say, and everyone would cock their heads to listen. Her mother eventually took her to the doctor. He said it…
|
132697
|
As they lay in the pasture on a warm summer's afternoon, with the sky blue, the sun shining, he looked across at her, peacefully asleep by his side. How he loved her. Their year together had been one of joy and happiness.He idly nibbled on a blade of grass, remembering the…
|
132654
|
Two days ago, a friend of mine and I met at my house. She was a nurse, and could only visit my house very late at night when her shift ended. We don’t meet often because she is very busy saving lives and generally being a more useful human being in societ
|
132600
|
Ireland - her beauty is like a drug.
|
1326157
|
Mark Reep is a faded Polaroid oracle taped to the only unbroken window of an abandoned house in Ithaca NY.
|
132633
|
In a dazzle of emerald softness, it flew out into the breeze wanting for the red apple in the tree just outside my window. The power had gone out, spare change to total meltdown, and the air inside was stifling, thick with mind-numbing languor and mosquitoes. So I…
|
1326179
|
Words darken with smut and irony over time.
|
132511
|
Surrounded by a stressfull sense of trying to understand the human condition. The flawed characters in the story speak of past violence and conflict. It is about a boy who is dealing with a recent suicide attempt on his own life & the regrets that come wi
|
132585
|
The women were increasing their writing in the restroom. I asked you later why women only talk on restroom walls, and you said, why do men only talk on restroom walls? I told you as much as I could remember of what had been written.
|
132552
|
The cold and the ice’ve really stoked a fire in those old bones of his. He runs with the gait of a racer, front legs straight out—each extension producing a crack like Jack London spitting into the cold...
|
132511
|
|
132522
|
Someone set a pig aflame.
|
132500
|
Caster had always imagined the Consensus as a big room, as big as the world, filled with white space and people with quantum wings, flitting about, creating information. There were tinted bubbles for people to share for privacy, and the lights never went
|
132521
|
She also castrated her cat. All by herself...with her Swiss Army Knife. And not with the blade either.
|
132544
|
My flash kept going off. The museum officials are strict about such matters. Sans flash! Sans flash, Monsieur!
|
132533
|
“Sandy likes the way Bob spanks, when he’s done she gives him thanks."
|
132500
|
His name is Rick Reynolds. His name is Steve Redford.
|
132596
|
Listen to him barking in the night. Fear shifts on the bed next to you, hogging the covers. Stare at the ceiling and wonder what to do. Forget his birthday. Forget he is forty-two. Forget the phone call from Berkeley twenty-one years…
|
1325136
|
Too many sparrows flit and twitter here./
Let’s go inside. The sky is far too big/
and the sun bears down on us like searchlights.
|
132543
|
I fear osiris with his feather rising to meet the raven in mid-air they will turn to look at me decide if I go through the door of no return into fierce landscape on my knees I will crumple into the foetal…
|
132565
|
just another torn & burning journeyflag for the rebel heart. All we know forsure is that dancing among the toads andcrickets takes a bit of courage. Beauty takesreal living guts these days. Laughing takes guts,too. Living takes love. Love is feeling. What'dyou think I…
|
13251411
|
chains across all the old doors
|
1325136
|
She’s changed leaves to emeralds. Worn a shawl of inked birds’ wings.
|
132564
|
You borrow words from platforms you could never build
Borrow morals from a party gone sour
|
132443
|
Let me swim into your eyes. Let me show you my world. My album. My Albania. My albumen.
|
132451
|
4th of July weekend, Woodland canyon, summer heat like the Garden of Eden, lush, green, secluded. She lay by the creek in a lounge chair under dappled shade from the sycamore trees, listening to the frogs jump and the birds sing, admiring the orange tiger lilies that…
|
