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Showdown at the Okay Corral

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I hauled out my Norton Anthology and threw caution to the wind.

Horse With One Big Ass Smile Plastered All Over Its Purple Petaled Pucker Just for You

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Tired, so tired of it all, but oh we'll always go on, won't we, still carrying on about the love the love the love we shared, only again and again. Ooh the oozing life blood is slowly, slowly, slowly, slowly now going to shit I say, practically…

Trajectory

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Soon the world is on film that is burning.

BOXES

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Lama’s mother is dead. She died when Lama was just outgrowing her ballet tutus. When Lama talks about it, it is with the air of one who picks honeysuckle over jasmine. It gives sunshine, she says, to graves. Our epitaphs are so mechanical otherwise. Un

31 & 32

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Many hours to make a brick: many bricks to make a curve.

How to Write a Poem in 7 Easy Steps

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1. Research how to locate and outline the chin of a toy terrier. Find a toy terrier, outline its chin, then count the hairs on said chin to determine the number of lines your poem will have.

Rat Hunter

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We came to the dump at dusk to shoot rats.

The Sunlight of the Mind

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The nerves are birds that guide us to feeling the loop and lift of reverie.

Showtime

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Showtime on Broadway.

Arcana Magi Zero + Pure - c.12

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Everyone gathered around Karin with the Mana Spirits. She wrapped her arms around her waist, staring at the ground.

An Articulation of Blades

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The new king hunted often. We heard her whirring above, the terrible whirring a forest of—, and she drifted over our city half dangling from the chopper, rifle barrel glinting.

Forty Two

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The gate squeaked, the gravel shuffled and the letterbox clattered as February 14th's mail cascaded to the ground.

For Fathers Day 2014

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Divine guidance. That's why Dad used a blowtorch to set the jug on fire, its contents the “Devil's elixir.”

Graybeard – a Series

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The abundances of age/ are of commodities/ no known demographic values:

The Amber Sea

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There is no life here, only a bleak slab of frozen desert and a sorrowful wind that calls for me to venture out.

The DreydelMaker (excerpt)

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Gimmel. As if ordained.

Memoir 2.1

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Anyone thinking they aren’t alone on life’s journey has their head up their ass.

Homonyms

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Ascent/Assent Together the horizon/ Catechism of love

Lavender, a Liberal

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Lavender, a Liberal Betty, batty from hormones, in a fanciful fit, named her daughter Lavender. Husband Don winced. Brothers Donald, John, Billy, and Tom were puzzled and pleased by this sister, this girl, who was a little bit like them, yet not like them at…

Tides

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Tides

Love

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My grandmother is magnificently breasted in her floor-length nightgown.

Ripping Good Poetry Lures Boys Who Curse With Verse

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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.

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 54

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Frank shouldered his backpack, grabbed the leather satchel packed with his brushes, palette knives, pens, and pencils, and exited the vaporetto at the Rialto Bridge.

Animal Instincts

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I take her to the zoo, and the tigers get out. The little tigers, I mean. Cubs. Two of them.

cross-quarter days

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sentinels in a frost-blackened field

Trade-Offs

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Smiling, holding hands, Joe and Lara basked in the sunshine of the mid January day as they approached the diner. The temperature was warm enough for golf. Joe had played in far colder weather in spring and fall.

Three Times, If I Count

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Once or twice, it was only once or twice. Three times, if I really count. And I wasn't giving or loving. And my self stayed hidden and I kept most of my clothes on.

Assiduity Ten

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I'm using a 16mm motion picture camera with sound on film, equipped with a magazine holding six hundred feet, giving me approximately fifteen minutes of continuous shooting. Uzma has changed her cloths again. She's dressed for working in the garden, wearing a white…

A Band of Feline Brothers

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I am not covetous for catnip, Nor care where I sleep at night. It irks me not who takes my Favorite chair, or swats me off a table.

There is no heartbeat, Mrs Stirling.

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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…