1572 12 10
|
|
157284
|
God had decided to resign. Not even two weeks notice. He just resigned. Point blank.
|
157285
|
—Mazel tov, schmazel tov!
|
157298
|
"Sara, do you taketh it with your eyes?"
|
157232
|
I could smell a bold combination of cheap perfume, stale smoke, and sex excreting from her weathered pores. The bus engine hummed as we climbed a winding road. She scratched her neck and tried to finger comb through her knotted hair. I caught a glimpse of
|
157211
|
I would open an eye, waiting for it to absorb the scant light in the room, and I would see her on the far edge of the bed, the topography of her hips now a battlement to keep me at bay.
|
157231
|
Wall talks to wall. One has a clock, the other a window, the third a cupboard with bandages etcetera. The fourth a door that opens and closes a thousand times a day.Chair is across from chair. Occasionally the one looking for care picks the wrong one to sit in, and there is…
|
157253
|
My Aunt's husband liked to dress up like a clown
|
157232
|
Instead, I get things like,
“Why can’t you find a nice man with cancer or a bum leg?”
|
157232
|
His academic nightmare is set in an examination hall, where the student takes a seat at a folding table in the center of the room.
|
157254
|
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,…
|
157286
|
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
|
157274
|
Francesco needed a magnifying glass to read her little missives.
|
157187
|
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
|
157161
|
Mr. Wazzeldot has seven legs. He lives very comfortably. He likes to sit by the fire. There's a large cushion for a chair, and in the evenings, he sips his Bloody Marys. I know because I visit him…
|
157144
|
The man wore a bowler hat and stood on an open patch of grass, with a pyramid-shaped stack of baseballs at his feet.
|
157133
|
They look like giant golden raindrops, or flying saucers, or peculiar fish out of their element
|
157132
|
Somniloquies rise like the drowned . . .
|
157121
|
They were really big, a lot larger and taller and stronger than he was. Sometimes they were holding him, all of him, high up in the air. Sometimes they would have him crawl in front of them. Often they put him into some form of holding cell.
|
157187
|
I supposed reluctantly that Princeton is soft as Macalester College is soft. A person could die just for having attended U.W.-Madison or Yale.
|
157154
|
I was always bi-polar. I didn’t realize it was a mental illness until my divorce lawyer had the court order a psychiatric analysis.
|
157194
|
Later, when she said she'd had miscarriages, I should have put it all together.
|
157110
|
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.
|
157163
|
Chant the ice cream mantra.
Prance the do dah day ballet.
Trot the t-bone tango two-step.
Dance the livelong day away.
|
157143
|
. . . the empiricism of the mechanical had wound tight into her, lessons her few calendars could never impart without aid from sundials, hourglasses, clocks.
|
1571129
|
anxiety
said Kierkegaard
is the dizziness
of freedom
|
157144
|
I assume the shape of a pronoun.
|
15711110
|
That won’t kill me, will it? I asked. Maybe, the doctor said.
|
157100
|
Mint upon my palate, I rub sleep infused eyes and crawl under the covers. Oh blessed sleep, please descend upon this body and transverse this fatigue. Eyes closed, bring a wavering blackness upon subtle lids. The conversation begins…
|
157132
|
“Life is on life’s terms,” she told me once. Her arm, wrapped in clear cellophane, was freshly adorned with a green-pigmented sand-dollar: a living shell.
|
