1649 2 1
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Well, yeah but no one that wasn't pointing a gun at me, mostly. I shot at a lot of people but there were only three times when I can honestly say I know that I blew someone away.
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164911
|
children love to push the gas up and down my limbs
|
1648103
|
Palms planted firmly against his temples, Travis paced the room like a caged animal. Giant black bats screeched in his brain, their pointy wings scraping at the edges of his cranium.
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164885
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Snipers wear camouflage clothing to avoid being seen. It wouldn’t do for a sniper to be seen because then the sniper might become the snipee.
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16481210
|
What did it mean? What would a psychologist say? Oh, who cares. In my opinion, we ask why, what, when, where, and how too often.
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164843
|
You think about the first time you saw an axe
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164830
|
The Snowman grinned malevolently as the Sugar Plum fairies shook in their tiny powdered boots."Santa has one more hour and then you're all marshmallow toasts!" the Snowman said. He laughed and he laughed. His evil plan? He wanted the key to time delivered to him personally…
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164800
|
Welcome to the genocide city zone I'm sure you'll enjoy your stay We've been killing folks here All the live-long day If you want to join us You'll have to pay the price Your soul's the cost, so ante up C'mon and shoot the dice Welcome to the genocide city zone …
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164898
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On my twenty-second birthday, in the spring of 1979, I had a crawfish boil, my first. Ninety pounds of red mudbugs on a picnic table spread with newspaper, my birthday cake sitting at the end of the table like an afterthought.I hadn't…
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164896
|
Erased. Like chalk across my body,
a fine powder of forgetfulness,
with a few swipes --- all those names
and faces, gone. The letters burned.
|
164874
|
Each memory of Fall reminds me of the harvest; Surely this is not a thought to turn the thought of dying. Black the turning point, there is a glint at the tip of the wing: Perhaps it rises from its cinders as I wish when I was waning, …
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164711
|
1. Poor grammar does not sleep. 2. We'll never finish every idea we have. 3. No matter how hard you try, you still might make it into my book
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164730
|
I see ghosts. They accost me in their sleep. Hundreds of them. When I wake up (after a long night of half-waking), I think, What wold ghosts want with me? I have nothing for them. But at night they're there again, watching, tapping my shoulder as I lay awake. Sometime…
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164700
|
The bullet split her head in half before she could finish her sentence. Her blood sprayed out onto my face and covered my lips. The taste of life as it suddenly ended.
|
164722
|
Beautiful boy! I am doomed / to have attended your presence; / time consumes us, but you / have changed so little...
|
16471510
|
I didn't hear your last words or see your lasteyes. I didn't reach you in time, so I sat by your corpse,silently saying goodbye. I am in that process,not sour, not sweet, that yoked speaking which can't(because the heart won't let it) utter its whisperedlast word, but…
|
164721
|
It is like truth on the battle field. Muted
|
164755
|
We pull up chairs. I breathe in her Bath and Body Works vanilla, read her paper slowly and aloud because the ears catch what the eyes miss. Her sentences are awkward, stilted.
|
164731
|
Your favorite nickname
existed only in the bright red
cherry smoldering
at the end of your smoke.
|
164687
|
First he wrote it in wet cement at the intersection:
“Tad Loves Kimberley,”
with a big heart around it.
He was real proud, you could see.
But then later on that year, the graffiti began
appearing everywhere, on all the store walls:
“Kimberle
|
164681
|
|
164633
|
From this distance, he reminded me of a sleazy pink flamingo, waiting for feeding time at the zoo to deepen the timbre of his feathers and hint at the promise of a narcotic aviation before his commune of hens.
|
164665
|
I stole forth dimly in the dripping pause
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16461814
|
The phone rings. The oven beeps./
The locomotive whistles and howls.
|
1646106
|
|
164630
|
Theresa Esposito woke to the smell of pignoli cookies baking. The sweet scent made her stomach rumble. She was ten-years-old today. And she felt ten. Her hair, her ears, her eyes, her toes — everything felt ten.
|
164643
|
A story about convincing people to do things they don't want to do, written entirely in dialogue; originally published by CHEAP POP.
|
1646158
|
She is too stylish to be crazy, is what the migrant probably thinks. And he's right.
|
164685
|
We will collapse in a storm of images
|
164612
|
she shivered in the ceasefire like a virginal nude brought to life.
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