1585 13 6
|
Too many sparrows flit and twitter here./
Let’s go inside. The sky is far too big/
and the sun bears down on us like searchlights.
|
158510
|
Tiny was my daughter. Or what was left of her. A mucous-y chunk of what was once in my womb and then wasn’t.
|
158500
|
It happens. Someone blows something off, someone else forgives it, then tat for tit and verse visa, and you’re missing someone’s wedding because you thought it was Thursday and they didn’t mention it to you anywy, but you’re still BFF and don’t
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1585119
|
When Chuck dies, I’ll throw/
a party and dance, a little drunk,/
across what I’ll pretend/
is the old shit’s grave.
|
158500
|
Ivy Oppel was one hard cousin to cry for. And a hard woman, too, but Ooops! Kapow! There's a hole in her head. Not hard enough, then.
I'm harder, thought Dumasha. A girl with a gun can have some fun in this world.
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158545
|
“Reminds me of my safari in Africa. Somebody forgot the corkscrew and for several days we had to live on nothing but food and water."- W.C. Fields Around the next corner is a dark green door a dark…
|
158575
|
I was tired and lonesome when I checked into another insufferable, shop-worn Holiday Inn. It was the only motel around with the internet — dial up only — in that little jerkwater town, Notmuch, Alabama. It was too late for a nap, so I jumped in the shower,…
|
158497
|
We didn't know him from Adam...
|
158453
|
We write poetry, but are unable to calm ourselves. We need more men of the world (like you) who are not too much amazed by experience. Men who can lead a dual life. Who have sexuality but remain detached, whole. The bodily, the sensual, easy give and ta
|
158460
|
But now she was no longer the little girl.
|
158411
|
Methuselah. That’s what they call him, the regulars that ride my train. Other things too, but Methuselah is the one that sticks in my mind. It seems to fit. It’s not as cruel.
|
1584107
|
Nik Wallenda was going to walk a wire stretched from Sarasota Bay across US 41 to a condo on Gulf Stream Drive.
|
158493
|
When I first started this, a few months ago, I was timid about looking people in the eye.
|
1584125
|
She sometimes ate her dinner standing up, in front of her living room window.
|
158472
|
|
158432
|
Ty speed-walked down the long ass tunnel that connected his “A” train to the NJ Transit bus, which would take him across the bridge, where he'd splurge for a cab to take him home.
|
158455
|
There’s someone in the audience who is immolating himself
Cutting his own leg over and over with a pen knife
And groaning: “Oh God, oh God”
And all I can think from up at the podium is
This guy must absolutely hate these poems
I am reading
|
158411
|
Maybe our whole generation is going to hell, but I’m not getting any younger or better looking. Life’s too short for the missionary position.
|
158433
|
Who hasn’t at some point of the day wanted to dredge up everything in your pocket just to see what it is.
|
158411
|
In September of that year, our neighbor Wayne had this idea that he could get rich by selling groceries Amway-style, and he booted his 12-year-old boy out of his own bedroom and put up shelves loaded with packages of spaghetti, cans of roast beef, soda po
|
158400
|
You need only one who notices.
|
158452
|
Your stepsisters send their love. All three are still on the wagon.
|
158434
|
“That pool will be the death of me.”Which Dad said at least a couple of times a week. Ten times the week after he'd read the TXU bill.“Goddamn pump, and that twitchy little Polaris. We should fill that pool with dirt and plant some trees and Asian…
|
158451
|
She wasn't even trying to live.
|
15831510
|
Translation’s not required—music/
sings itself complete and comprehensible
|
158397
|
|
1583148
|
Even music relies on what/
you know as music/
for its power to enthrall.
|
1583115
|
There are no inspirations./
There are only the things I like/
and the much more numerous//
things I do not like.
|
158300
|
Ships tumble, cars crash, horns gulp water, bombs burst up from the ground in a halo of screams.
|
158330
|
Some of us, however, turn our secrets over in our souls, churning them with the fury of the howling winds of a January night. They are eroded and shaped and fine-tuned with the precision of a jeweler; the deeper and darker they are, the more brilliant of
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