1649 9 5
|
I fear my personal information travels the World Wide Web/
and mad Ukrainians will steal my name and wealth./
I fear the fiscal cliff and raising the ceiling on national debt./
I fear a death by taxes.
|
1649 0 0
|
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.
|
1649 18 14
|
The phone rings. The oven beeps./
The locomotive whistles and howls.
|
1648 2 0
|
The sighs of the nearby shore came to me through an open window.Wave after gentle wave caressed her broad, sand crusted skin. Mesmerized, I lay still.The in out sound of breathing now filled the room.Your warmth enveloping me like the satin…
|
1648 9 8
|
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…
|
1648 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,…
|
1648 7 7
|
It’s so uncomfortable being an Angel in a sack
|
1648 0 0
|
Even if you're doing it together, there's no unity when everyone's dancing to their own tune.
|
1648 15 7
|
Mark Reep is a faded Polaroid oracle taped to the only unbroken window of an abandoned house in Ithaca NY.
|
1648 12 7
|
|
1648 2 2
|
Suppose Eve, strolling through the sunlit Garden, had not stumbled on that particular Tree at all, the wily serpent twined in its lower branches?
|
1648 8 6
|
If I seemed disappointed after our conversation,
then, for the record, that was never the case.
|
1647 3 3
|
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.
|
1647 3 2
|
"Why, before the summer has passed
You won’t remember her name. . ."
|
1647 5 2
|
I walk through nameless
streets, narrow and winding,
past shops selling scarves,
spices, skins.
|
1647 0 0
|
"Nothingness had had enough. Nothingness had become militant. It had bought a camouflage jacket. It grew an afro. It burned its bra. Nothingness was pissed, and it wanted its stuff back."
|
1647 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.
|
1647 11 6
|
W here do you think you're going
what'll you think you'll do
running down this highway
that you never even knew
|
1647 10 6
|
|
1647 3 0
|
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.
|
1647 15 8
|
She is too stylish to be crazy, is what the migrant probably thinks. And he's right.
|
1647 2 1
|
In the graph of life or death, two axes will inevitably meet. Will it be as jarring as two sharp and well-hewn axes colliding?
|
1647 8 6
|
The drop is like a hangman's drop, an executioner's, but farther and longer, perhaps three or four seconds.
|
1647 5 0
|
She said “I have to go”, he answered with his eyes “Don't” and they stepped closer to each other in the kitchen, a step on the tiled floor, the remnants of their tea cold on the counter top.
|
1647 11 8
|
I can’t decide whether I want to be buried or cremated when I die.
|
1646 6 4
|
My mother moved her things out of my parents’ bedroom into the attic guest room. When I asked where guests would sleep, my father said, “Matthew, don’t be an asshole.”
|
1646 2 1
|
Forgetting her inhibitions, she dove for him.
|
1646 12 9
|
anxiety
said Kierkegaard
is the dizziness
of freedom
|
1646 5 3
|
The arrangements of lights on the cracking towers are a segment of Orion’s belt, the handle of the Big Dipper and a section of Andromeda’s spine.
|
1646 10 6
|
There were only six passengers aboard the small ferry...
|