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Napomo 17: April 19 – 24

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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.

She Rose From the Weeds

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you drove by the woman standing on the verge the woman with the shoulders of a long distance swimmer and you told yourself her story: she'd slept in the wiregrass she carries…

Palm of Her Hand

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He trembled as she splayed open his palm...

XAM, PARAGRAPH, May 22, 1998, Houston, Texas

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I wrote this paragraph (the first in a series of 14 paragraphs) shortly after Frank Sinatra had died and during my last visit to my boyfriend, M. He had not seen me write something in years.

All About the Guns

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Been looking for guns. His guns have turned up missing. He’s been looking for the guns. Looking for guns. The au-pair must’ve snuck back in And took the guns. And the baby. The baby must be crawling off with Guns again.

Blank Light, Wooded Light (ELECTRIC DELIRIUM 1.7)

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Ships tumble, cars crash, horns gulp water, bombs burst up from the ground in a halo of screams.

Haiku for Jogging

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Haiku for Jogging

Three Point Back (from epiphanyzine.com)

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“...you should have something moving around here.” Tracey looked around, then said, “Paul, you should get a cat.”

Using Proven Scientific Methods to Get Published

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I have a ninety two percent rejection rate.

The Lincoln Effect

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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.

"What It Means to Exodus" Or, "Brrrraaaawww"

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"I have consulted the Internet," the man remarks, squatting low, sorting through a mountain of tablets. He snags two and stands slowly, confidently, and I realize suddenly that he is Moses. Two iPads, cradled surely in each wrist, glow with lists.

Friday Briefings

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They could occupy the space// left by creatures larger and more/ evolved.

Thanks, for the Memory

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"So, how did you know my name?" "I read memories." i said

For my lost child

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and where have the years sped how distant was your youth

The Snake Pit

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They come in my room without knocking and I'm nekkid.

The Torture Never Stops

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Who is the torturer and who is the tortured?

A Thousand Miles Away

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In the house by a kidney-shaped lake, her grandfather was speaking to a stranger about a foreign war that had never ended, had spread close to home.

Red and Lavendar Silk

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Swatches of Chinese silk in vivid red and lavender fly through the air. My granddaughter in her mid-thirties reaches for the cloth. I see in her mirror a shape forming; a slim, gray haired woman with a spring in her step. I pause to admire my reflection and pass over the…

Happy Birthday!

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[WARNING: DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 'R XMAS!]

Brussegem, a snug hell (novel excerpt)

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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,....

The Poem Sits at Home and Envies as It Celebrates Music

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Translation’s not required—music/ sings itself complete and comprehensible

Iowa

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"It was John-Darren who once told me that he felt sorry for women."

Arcana Magi Zero + Pure - c.6

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The cubs from every Clan shivered at his snarl. The Elder’s presence was overwhelming, and level of pressure pressing down upon them.

The Mayor

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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

Boston Marathon

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As I walked down to the Subway, I thought to myself that now, after the horror in Boston, everybody looks like a terrorist.

Clearance

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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

Ghosts

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"Yes. It was moving, and not along the ground, either. We were. . . looking toward the cemetery, and the ghost or whatever was clearly visible. . ."

mermaid tale

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your words that came crashing over me/ so cold the clear shock was like salt water

Sunny Side

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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.

the writing of poetry

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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