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WANTED: a Muse.
Former Special Forces solider turned poet seeking artistic inspiration. Brunettes preferred but blondes will not be turned away; gingers, however, are out of the question. Must have a voice that sounds like money, a self-destructive tem
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14701210
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1470116
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Today’s new YouTube kitten;
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147086
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You left for the glittery wild of West Hollywood. I guess L.A.'s off-limits now. My heart goes fucking tachy when I drive over Kellogg Hill past Forest Lawn and see the skyline glowing through the rainbow haze of sunset. You're out there, out in the…
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147043
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“106 more miles,” she said.
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147077
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I wondered if Mr. Slane even knew/
how many dogs he owned
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147032
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She flew through the air, linen skirt billowing around her. Below, her buckled bicycle was taking a different route. Less aerodynamic than she, its trajectory was brief, crashing into the ditch. Elspeth kept on flying. Time slowed, and expanded
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147096
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1470108
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147065
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What a nation!
First we lost our money
Now we’ve lost our funny
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147012
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What a beautiful day it was, what a wonderful day to lose one's mind. This is what you think going into it, that it is all a wonderful dream come true, and sure I'll have my hands full, but at the end of the day it will be worth something. If I hang in long enough,…
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147079
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I don't know where to start. We're gaining flight. Did you seeanybody we know? The trees are always a concern. I don't thinkI know how to stop this thing from crashing into parked cars,that is if we live. You can say it was all on a stupid dare. They don't have to know…
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14691212
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Not only half-full/
but stress-fractured
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14691310
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Well, it's midnight and here I am drinking alone at the Stick It Inn, watching the clock because that cute, brunette waitress with the home wrecker tits, Julie, is working again, thank ya, Jesus, and she just came over and murmured she'd be off at one and come over and…
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146996
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It hangs unspoken in the sadness he pushes through his harmonica, while his hands work the old, beat-up guitar that tries to be a Gibson for his fingertips.
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1469168
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146942
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True facts about Redbeard the communist pirate.
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146965
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This writers' conference (sponsored by VQR, which had run its banner ad atop the Fictionaut home page in the summer of 2014, which begins to explain both my attendance and this essay) revealed itself as an apt subject . . .
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146987
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I imagine you in the States,
pushing stacks of work papers and our memories
to the side, sense your enjoyment that
you won’t see the worry of your
behavior reflected in my eyes again.
That you can buy and bang and be
whomever you want,
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146900
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I'm getting self-righteous here, Dear Reader . . . [hey! wait a second! this is my diary! what are you doing, looking at it, dude! Hit the road! Scram! Vamoose!]
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146900
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THE LAST THING I WANTED, expected, or needed was to be standing in the doorway of Carly Ray's room, watching her clutch a picture of her father, my old friend Beryl, up to her face. She is so tiny, but at the same time there is something very adult about the way she looks.…
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146954
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It was uncomfortable to realize people had agendas. That there could be invisible realities.
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146975
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I am no different to her, living seven days ahead
of myself, looking forward to looking back,
as we Irish do so fondly
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1469107
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The tech turns off the music. The capsule blares. I am in Jurassic Park with Sam Neill. I am Timmy, descending the electrified fence, almost toast. I am Karen Silkwood, a deer in the headlights, then showering off plutonium. A garbage truck is compacting
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146921
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It was all things considered a particularly odd sight, which Annalise did not know how to handle.
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146964
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I wrote this piece after I told the originator of the youtube video "Mieders Alpine Coaster" by David Jellis how I felt watching it.
I admitted I was a voyeur not a participant, but that his video fascinated me to the point that I needed to write ab
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146894
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The man's dog slipped away one night. He left soon after.
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146884
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even from the moon our planet’s truth has not been seen.
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1468139
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No king of Ithaca, but of each/
whining, banging, dust–clouded island/
of focused, physical work
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146843
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Atlanta, 1990The night we almost died,crushed at a one-hit wonder concert,comes back to mewhen the club announces it's closing.An ancient excelsior millturned industrial dance hall,I spent three years mapping every dark corner, finding secret places for sex and…
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