1586 4 5
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I lost a baby two years ago. At 8.5 weeks after seeing her heart beat. I haven't been able to talk about it, but I can write about it. My throat cracks and splinters when I begin to form a thought or word or phrase. I took such great care when…
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158631
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Alcohol and American writers have always had a connection–about 70 percent of American winners of the Nobel Prize for Literature could be considered heavy drinkers if not more.
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158655
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158631
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This was looking down from what we know as The Grassy Knoll.
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158632
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She turned him down again. Said it was her insomnia. She was so tired, she said, she had to work in the morning, and why couldn't he understand that? She rolled over facing away from him. He sat up in bed, thinking. When was the last time? Three months ago? Four? He…
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158663
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Pringy practices an aesthetic variant of the “muscular Christianity” that is a tradition at Groton; a program of Sunday poetry classes for boys who violate the school’s ban on swearing.
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158665
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was about a girl/he never met/across cold steel tracks/at cold sunsets.
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158632
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He is an exercise in humility:What I cannot have or be. The chances of our meetingand his perfection are darkly astronomical. There are plenty of otherswhose riches I cannot have,why envy him?We are similar in spritbut have different fortunes.It is unfair and…
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158511
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years later, she won’t go near the trees
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158562
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Your usage of the English language / is awkward and passé—
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1585115
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In the darkness, as I awaken, an orange glowing 3:45 greets me . . .
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158500
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Detective-Sergeant Claude Mulvihill was seasick. He was in a New York City Harbor Police boat in the East River headed towards the George Washington Bridge. There was a good chop in the harbor, which became worse when the Police Boat reached the Battery.
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158551
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I lift up my sweatshirt and reach with a full fist into my belly button. This is where the fat comes out.
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158545
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Don’t break things, I add. And he looks at me like I’ve broken everything else.
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158543
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The first time I ever held a gun, I was three years old...
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158531
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Though his heart aches
his melody seems to flow
It creeps into the dreams
of all in slumber in the valley below
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158500
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“Has a letter arrived for me?” Billy sat on the third stair from the bottom, drumming his little hands on his Spider-Man pyjama bottoms. “Dad!”
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158541
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This artist has a wonderful sense of line and color. Abstract is not my métier, but I appreciate the art behind this painting. It helps to copy it. You sleep with it for a time and, like a woman, you learn her passions and taboos.
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158511
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I like babies and little kids, more than some people but goddamn, children's laughter out of nowhere (in the night, when you're not expecting it) is creepy. I don't like slugs smeared like nightmare goo on my summer-bare feet, I could do without them in …
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15852115
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A small poem about incipient insanity
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158555
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"Your loss," she cackled, stumbled to the bed in the corner, hummed a tuneless song, and began snoring, too.
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158433
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The gate squeaked, the gravel shuffled and the letterbox clattered as February 14th's mail cascaded to the ground.
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158474
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“Is truth real?”—what a time for such a question to emerge! Such an elementary question, too, a pity no one was asking it two days ago.
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158400
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When He had built the Universe, there was no greater joy in putting it together. The angels themselves were perfect constructs of concept and design, embodiment of breathing principle over particle waves. They each had their purpose; each mortar or a supp
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158442
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Before I grew used to it
I would wake to the sound
of the Amtrak whistle
echoing down along the tracks
behind our trailer park
and wonder who was hurtling where
through the dark night and across
this wide Illinois prairie
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158411
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our eyes misted white as goatskin
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158400
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The day Eugene told me his secret he gave me a bouquet of lilies. Ice clung to the petals like fuzz. Sorry about the frost, he said. That was an accident.
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158410
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“Bound to happen,” Marny said. “The way he went on; no doubt he'd end up like this.” Few folks sitting around in a one room shack. Walls were weather stained slats; the door, the only opening. Their fans flapping the air in their…
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158455
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The baby will not stop crying.
He’s been crying for three hours straight.
I’m the worst mother ever.
What kind of mother can’t soothe her own baby?
The bad kind.
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158455
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I asked her how she came to be at our little party. We all knew she was an intern. What would she want with the likes of us, the orderlies and techs and strays? She just held up Ed's flyer and said, "Why not?" But she didn't look happy. We fired up and someone said, "Let's…
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