1539 10 5
|
addict for validation and cat tongues
|
1539 3 0
|
|
1538 6 0
|
Velvet answered the door in a red leather dress that was made with just about enough material to make a wallet, and looking like a long limbed drink of water calling out to a thirsty man.
|
1538 15 11
|
The universe will fuck you over in the end./
That’s what it does, what it’s good at—
|
1538 4 1
|
At a rest stop in Montpelier, they stopped to buy Cokes and gum from the vending machines. He was showing off, trying to jimmy one of the locks with a safety pin but it stayed locked and she laughed at him and he said goddamn, look at all a them Milkyways
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1538 1 0
|
Row,
Caps of white,
A salted escape
beneath reflected light.
Brother, remember those old lies?
I’m off to sea to make those things right,
now.
|
1538 1 1
|
Her cash. It smelled like seven-dollar-a-quart gardenia perfume and cave aged cheese—like hope overgrown with mildew.
|
1538 7 7
|
To tell the truth, I can’t complain. Look, lots of people have it tough. I don’t have it tough...
|
1538 8 4
|
It’s just that—well, I don’t know how to put this—
With a Dadaist poet a non-affair is the height of erotic bliss.
|
1538 4 3
|
. . . the empiricism of the mechanical had wound tight into her, lessons her few calendars could never impart without aid from sundials, hourglasses, clocks.
|
1538 18 14
|
The phone rings. The oven beeps./
The locomotive whistles and howls.
|
1538 5 3
|
Buyers of freelance writing have a well-deserved reputation for responding slowly, thereby increasing your pleasure in much the same way that the Pointer Sisters longed for a slow hand.
|
1538 0 0
|
One minute Rudy was sitting up close to me, asking me how could Geppetto make a little boy out of a piece of wood, and the next, Steve was pounding up the stairs, yelling, "Carla, get blankets, warm clothes; we're leaving, we won't be back."
|
1538 15 8
|
She is too stylish to be crazy, is what the migrant probably thinks. And he's right.
|
1538 3 1
|
When our body falters, deny us rest.
When our minds crack under the strain, forbid us sanity.
When we are too tired to fight give us war.
|
1537 8 5
|
Today clouds were dancing on the moon
Moon had a fit but drew in a breath
And let out a sigh
|
1537 2 2
|
Tomorrow, they'd bury their daughter . . . and still, so many questions. Why would a beautiful fourteen-year-old choose for herself such a horrible, painful death? In life, she appeared the antithesis of suicidal ideation: excellent grades, well-liked in school and…
|
1537 2 1
|
On the other pillow is a ladybird which escaped from a dream. It reminds me of when I was a tiny red polka dot. And then bigger, and other colours. And then… I stare at the ceiling, searching its soul for little things. The ladybird touches my arm, whispers…
|
1537 10 8
|
|
1537 12 8
|
"Check out these dudes,” he says. “They're all wearing kilts. Not that there's anything wrong with that, as long as they're wearing underwear.
|
1537 5 5
|
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.
|
1537 5 4
|
The coin, so little, the watch chain, the youth, the fading softening speech, each hand and finger, the panic modeled on your own eyes, the ashtray, certain stumps along the way, the long distance, the odd feather, the jazz rope gone,…
|
1537 4 2
|
The following is a true story, or rather it is a true experience from the story of my life. Some say that just because something happens doesn’t really make it “true”.
|
1537 5 2
|
Hissing through the opening, the spirits have no place.
|
1537 10 3
|
|
1537 6 4
|
bassackward/in the surreal/bathroom mirror
|
1537 4 2
|
You want to get laid talking socks
|
1537 8 5
|
We will collapse in a storm of images
|
1536 3 2
|
We’re not like a lot of your fly-by-night disease-based charities. Every pence we raise goes directly to St. Bartholomew’s, where 90% of it ends up in the pockets of doctors so they can buy expensive horses.
|
1536 11 1
|
Eat me so I can sink in your mouth, my paper fraying along the sharp topography of your tongue, lodging in the holes where your teeth used to be. There, I will storm an infection until your mouth inks my words.
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