1628 5 5
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In an authentic Irish pub in Las Vegas where over much crowd noise the three of us are discussing Yeats, Joyce and Lady Gregory. We’re in an Irish pub after all, plus the fact we’re literature profs attending a Vegas academic conference.
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162866
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I hear
the shriek
of the Laughing Lady
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16281311
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I was always more comfortable with the ponies than you were / more comfortable with betting windows and two-dollar bills than you were
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162821
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"In the grave my lips will still be moving."
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162820
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Now, the Kingdom of Begonia was known for its serenity and virtue. But just like any other place, there can sometimes be dark and mysterious inhabitants.
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162877
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The light on his face from a lamp,
felt hat with a black band scrunched down,
the light on his face as though thrown there,
the nose creating a strong shadow,
with dark, straight eyebrows under the hat,
red and orange beard.
Leaning forwar
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162823
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["Mea Culpa" means: I don't care what you think, sorry is when I feel like making you hear me say it.]
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162886
|
...the scream and the face...
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162888
|
I could hide away in this tower
But I am Rapunzel
And I will let down my hair
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1627107
|
I have known a head become / a callus, matriculate, stop / shaving, move to Vegas
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162761
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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…
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162786
|
|
162755
|
Life is easier for the handsome. /
They are more pleasant to deal with.
|
162740
|
“I’m making a dress,” she said, feeding the pages through the sewing machine.
He didn’t know how to answer. “Are those my books?”
|
162788
|
I clearly see the squirrels of
negativity all around me
or at least I sense that
they are there,
filling in the blank spaces
as I read down the page
prior to arriving at
the meaning of everything.
The greenness of figs
before they
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162731
|
Let's start from the beginning. Your mother's face in the phone. Your parted lips. Your surprised tongue. Hands deep in the folds of your skirt. The poet filling your pockets with blue and orange. The poet filling your notebooks with slowly drifting fields and gramophones…
|
162710
|
Hoo-ah! I love these open mikes, I get a chance to pour it out, this… whatever it is, this passion, all this love from I’ll never know where, and then, and then, sometimes, too much hate. Everything’s like all zowie!—splashing scarlet and purple,
|
162743
|
It was bound to happen. Even celebrities can only take so much. The constant comparisons to Christ (people still think He was born in December), assumptions that he was anti-Semite or anti-Islam, and accusations from PETA, now ad litem for…
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162720
|
Rothko and Stella loved the beach. To Jalapeno it was just one big litter box and for her it held no great appeal. She sprawled sunbathing on the dashboard lifting a lid occasionally to watch Lauren riding a wave. The dogs delirious with freedom romped and chased tight…
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162644
|
"..squeezing her eyes and mouth tightly."
|
1626116
|
Is this a place to show posterity and mortality?
|
162684
|
I rifled through the bedside table until I found dirty magazines
|
162620
|
You held my hand when I hit the ground and told me the shakes would start soon.
|
16262311
|
We deny one another, here,/
as long as it’s plausible.
|
162663
|
It is not unusual to see Göttwigg with his shirt on inside out.
|
162633
|
He had a simple dream: He wanted to become a star, and not one of those tv stars because those die, those die all the time, and before dying they usually become terrible shadows of their former selves, vile creatures who exploit their own former glory...
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162686
|
My uncle lived part-time in prison, in a cell with a blanket, pillow, and towel. The remainder of his days he lived in a small house on Prospect Street.
|
162600
|
“You shouldn’t have gone inside,” he said, after she told him what had happened. “I know that’s what you’re used to doing here, with people we know. But he’s not from around here. Don’t go back over there, okay?”
|
162532
|
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.
|
162521
|
Welcome to OTHERS. A place where I hope you will experience the enchantment of a time and place like no other
MATTITUCK 1971
LIKE YOU NEVER KNEW IT
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