1575 6 1
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You're on the good side of thirty, probably with a little girl or boy of your own sleeping at home, and here you are dragnetting at three in the morning. We're all broken, and the scars we trade are all that remains of our fragile, once complex lives.
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157511
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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.
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157550
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Rumpelstiltskin cried
because you belong to me;
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157541
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But tonight
while your finger
glides across
the glossy pages
of Popular Science
I hold a séance
for the Holy Spirit
in utter seriousness
among the book clutter
and crumpled manifestos
in the basement
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157510
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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.
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157572
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When Mr. Hawk died, he discovered something. Heaven was like being the library forever. Hell was like being in the library forever. Only one of those places had Ava Gardner.
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157545
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“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…
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157400
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Mort’s hand-mind suffered electrifying-absence-emptiness; no wife.
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1574148
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Even music relies on what/
you know as music/
for its power to enthrall.
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15741610
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He trembled as she splayed open his palm...
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157420
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When they tell you to choose your last meal, it probably hasn't dawned on you yet.
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157493
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When I first started this, a few months ago, I was timid about looking people in the eye.
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157461
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money ain't nothin next to lovin.
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157442
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Lorelei was bombarded constantly with it. She began to hate the city...
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157400
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At night, he saw the commercial, the same one every time: the Watson’s girl, mascot for her father’s pool, spa, and billiards business. The Watson’s girl was a veteran at this, the same one from his youth, the one whose heart-shaped face and cleavage the
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157455
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15741212
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That afternoon she met me in the lobby of my hotel and we simply smiled at each other in the elevator going up to my room where we sat on the couch for about three hours and told of our lives, of being apart, for so many years, then sensing our time was nearly used up, I…
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157485
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1962, What I wanted was a Levittowner rancher like my best friend had,
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157434
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“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…
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157300
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Long ago, this painter Brussegem had hung the dark mantle of Outcast Artist” over his shoulders—and over his life, he formed a strict philosophy—Art and Only Art—and protected his solitude and artistry with all his moody might,....
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157342
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Light youth
that
barely touches the
ground
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1573115
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There are no inspirations./
There are only the things I like/
and the much more numerous//
things I do not like.
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1573125
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She sometimes ate her dinner standing up, in front of her living room window.
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157372
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157367
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I love you because your eyes are both crossed
When you do it, because you’re focused
On the inside of the universe
I love you because
You’re on a roller coaster
Through life
And I can ride along
For the thrill of it
I love you because
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157332
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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.
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157334
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When it was sticky cool at night, he'd pull her hair up off her neck and spin it like a pinwheel. “You could be anything," he would say. “You could be a preschool teacher.” She waited for him to add, “For dragons! For wallabees! For…
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157331
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It was more than just taste/
more than a point of view/
and oil and pigment/
that painted a store front church/
a box with a cross in a vacant lot/
that welcomed desperation, faith/
and imagination.
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157364
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“What took you so long?” she asks. She seldom asks me that when we’re done, but today I feel ready to protract the glory, to tease out its rise and fall like the lingering chords of a Debussy pastorale.
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157385
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