1356 14 9
|
the wind mistook your arms for wings
|
135662
|
|
135663
|
That is a pretty damning statement.
|
135650
|
Rumpelstiltskin cried
because you belong to me;
|
135682
|
Listen to chickadees. Join / LinkedIn.
|
135600
|
Won't speak a word against 'em. Car trunk stunk like bad chicken long after, but I won't speak a word against 'em.
|
135630
|
blackberry pie and huckleberry wine and litte Maria with her summerset bangs
|
135600
|
Ayane took another look of the area and it was large warehouse. A loud thud vibrated outside.
|
135595
|
I recalled the one night stand I'd had with the girl one balmy summer night in Minneapolis. We lay on my bed in the moonlight, and I touched the nipples of her tiny breasts with the thumb and pinkie of one hand.
|
135553
|
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.
|
135564
|
They made posters and hung them everywhere. With the passing days she became the photograph at its center: hair always in the same ponytail; always with the same smile
|
135555
|
This morning I found
A big black crow
Working over a flattened
Squirrel in the middle
Of the road
First day of winter
Longest night
Shortest day
No problem
The rest of the year
Should be a breeze
|
1355109
|
We’re lucky it/
was chunky spew,
|
135511
|
õõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõõ
|
135522
|
The streets downtown belong to the people. The people wanted greater transparency. They wanted Mayor Abok to be straight and narrow with them. They wanted their streets to be level and safe to drive their vehicles on. They wanted their streets to be usefu
|
135511
|
I came late to sunrise. The hills were lit / with goats.
|
135555
|
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.
|
135591
|
Okay, I'm here; I'm participating. Enjoying the back & forth with other writers. Waiting for penises and fetuses to move down the "Most Recent" list, but working around them. Well, that's kind of unintentionally visual.This essay, like many other reads on here, is…
|
135585
|
In the diffuse light of early morning you wear a sweat suit maybe and stand in front of a model-kitchen counter in a model-home kitchen
|
135542
|
He arrived at Bellevue hospital in a straight jacket bound to a gurney.
|
135511
|
My grief is made up of
Demons fighting to
Claw their way first
Out of my eyes
|
135511
|
When the dust cleared, she saw him, standing silently, bow and arrow in his left hand. His face was the same as her middle brother's, broad and handsome, his dark eyes slits for light. This was her father. …
|
135522
|
I recently discovered that the man I'd loved and trusted for twenty years had a secret girlfriend on the side for the past decade. We've parted ways and I'm trying to go on with my life. At about the same time, my friend Judy lost her beloved elderly dog after…
|
135542
|
Dandelions wither as I approach and the grass dies under my feet.
|
135542
|
they tried to trick the sun
|
135401
|
[............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................]
|
135455
|
It wasn't pain
but half of it,
so half of it I mended
|
135400
|
She wheeled more deeply into the office towards Mason’s desk. Keith hurried to the desk and pulled the chair out of the way for her and a sat down next to her. She was blue-eyed, pale and completely hairless, which made it difficult to guess her age.
|
135421
|
Father hands Billy a length of rope. Billy builds his resolve, fights back his tears, heads into the kitchen. It's time to become a man.
|
135444
|
I was so used to the silence of late summer afternoons, when I could roll my hoop through the empty, sunlit piazzas without meeting another shadow, that at first I mistook the footsteps for the beat of a metronome spilling through an open window.
|
