1574 0 0
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Alysia grabbed her luggage and rolled it behind her. Looking up at the sky, it was nighttime. She could see the crescent moon above, adding to the darkness.
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157422
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Secretly she suspected she was really a witch. She didn't have green skin or scraggly black hair, and certainly no flying monkeys. Maybe those came over time, the more bad things you did, the more ugly you became until all the world could see how horrible
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157431
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There was a hole in my tooth. It wouldn't let anything go.
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157498
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drunkards indulge, addicts abuse
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157455
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Life is easier for the handsome. /
They are more pleasant to deal with.
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157498
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The Chicago to Denver fast train clocked 90 MPH plus, but braked hard on the long curve through town, sparks ringing flanged wheels.
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157442
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My playing would falter languidly, and transcend itself like a wishful Nocturne
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157462
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He's driving in the Sierra Nevada with his wife and their small daughters and the girls are fighting and he can't take much more of it.
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157431
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We sat quietly in my truck. My lit cigarette twitched between my lips. Samantha and I stared at the front door of Planned Parenthood in Worcester.
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1574144
|
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157462
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The goose on the roof isn’t aware it is doing anything odd...
|
157441
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The next moment is a convergence made from a single repeating sequence that disappears behind the voice that tells of it.
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157433
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I am asking for something as simple as water. In an oak tree, weeping, a child climbed too high. Tears that the barkstain will never wash clear. O love. We ask far too much when we fall. In a momentary lapsus, the words…
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157475
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Nine sated elephants and an ass sit around a decimated Thanksgiving table discussing the state of the union over the hacked to bits carcass of a twenty-three pound turkey. Two years in to The Great Communicator's Lame Duck term and the nine elephants, whose…
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157355
|
He’s more than a little pissed at all this eternal boulder rolling.
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1573135
|
|
157355
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i am either lacerated /or ill at ease / continually subject to gusts of life
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157384
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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.
|
157386
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He fell through her scalp-crust
|
157300
|
His name is Rick Reynolds. His name is Steve Redford.
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157332
|
On shingle of seashells &
Bullet shells,
Ghosts drift along the shore
Of the Black Sea.
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157398
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Years later he surveys this place again to post something, anything. He plays "sex on fire," sounds that once fueled him. Now he knows the song is about VD, not unbridled potency. Names and words all seem at once familiar and numbing and noise. He once wanted fame or…
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157332
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...I’m honest enough to know that fucking around has never been accidental or unplanned. Every time I did it, even in the rock bottom throes of esteem, sobriety, and life, yes, even on the brink of suicide, I knew exactly what I was doing...
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1573119
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For Sale: Clean Depends, Never Worn
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157353
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—Jesus, a snoring cat. No wonder Alex put this cat outside.
|
1572105
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Two types coexist- the sanguine/
and exsanguinated./
My skin is cool/
and pale as moonlight
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157276
|
The faces of the sun remain unaltered across the
seven day forecast.
I am sweat-glued to a poem, looking up at the
wall-mounted TV in a diner in the Valley
|
157200
|
“They’re not gonna shoot him?” Rick cried.
|
157233
|
While he was in there he saw another man walk in, five years his senior. He was ushered back by a woman with bare legs and a white coat, as if she was role playing a professional masseuse. He'd caught sight of the man's ring finger and it hand a plain gol
|
15721111
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Why do people kill themselves with food? It’s obvious, I suppose. They’re hungry.
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