1508 6 3
|
Her smile like fortune’s cannot be coerced but she opens her peignoir. He stares at the sullen bullethole between her breasts, dark blood welling slowly with each heartbeat. Does he bow slightly, turn away whole? You suppose not. She closes the door.
|
150800
|
The little clapboard church sits stiffly in the sun. It's steeple marking time with it's shadow on the sidewalk. It is the last place most people would think to look for a vampire, but I am sure that one is in there. Contrary to popular opinion, there
|
150876
|
I almost caught a poet today.
|
150876
|
All these poets with their wrinkled hands full of freshly poured over poems are driving me into the dried wheat fields like a black block of crows. Offering a collectable cigarette, they light the damned thing with another hand-rolled poem,…
|
1508104
|
I don’t know how some can do it. Can they just walk off the animal in the yard or something, and forget about love altogether? Some have that built-in coldness of the soul, I guess. I don’t get it. The blood does not seem to shake their hearts. Are th
|
150861
|
I'm not dying. What is it called if you think you might have Hypochondria but you really don't? I'm worried that's what I have. Is it cold in here? Or is it me, dying?
|
150821
|
I wonder if regular nonfashion clothes are out forever, if these kids will ever dress normally like, you know, Phil Donahue, again.
|
150800
|
The cubs from every Clan shivered at his snarl. The Elder’s presence was overwhelming, and level of pressure pressing down upon them.
|
150842
|
who can quite say/when careless talk & confidence/slips into that other charged thing/so minimal at first
|
150855
|
I have a ninety two percent rejection rate.
|
150811
|
Wherever you decide to grow
Please remember to ask the dirt
‘Am I still dust’
|
150832
|
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.
|
150821
|
I think we could be twins, our hands hitching us together like paper dolls, our parkas making blobby round balloon shapes as outlines for our bodies. I imagine each of us holding onto someone else, and the line continuing on from there until we have a cha
|
150832
|
The moment I was told of your passing...
|
150800
|
Being the baby in a family forces a focused outlook on life. Not necessarily profound, not even wry, but a perspective that pushes for two things - recognition, and to be in on whatever is going on.
|
150841
|
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
|
150820
|
He also had OCD. He had to kick every dog he met. Johnny killed a lot of dogs and was bitten by many others. He was a cruel bastard.
|
150854
|
If you are a family member or friend of a person incarcerated in a correctional facility...
|
1508138
|
The stars align against us. Lines of force/
collaborate to push us off the edge/
into the dark abyss we’ve joked about.
|
150811
|
Shirley stubbed her cigarillo out on a dead chunk of honeycomb.
|
150893
|
|
150742
|
Anatoly Gringovitch took a swallow of beer, thoughtfully put the cap on his Ferrari da Varese custom fountain pen, and launched into his story:
|
1507119
|
The commodore drives a 67 Caddy rag top
All fin and boatish power
|
150700
|
Ships tumble, cars crash, horns gulp water, bombs burst up from the ground in a halo of screams.
|
150710
|
The following is a true story, or rather it is a true experience from the story of my life. Some say that just because something happens doesn't really make it "true".
|
150711
|
Winter in Phoenix Arizona happens in July. An overgrown lawn is working its way up onto The sidewalk. And then there's you with your mower, A hidden newspaper in the middle of everything. Snowflakes puff out from under Spinning blades. You hover above like…
|
1507107
|
and where have the years sped
how distant was your youth
|
150774
|
"I’ve always wanted to write a novel. Like Catch-22, something off-beat that would start by word-of-mouth, you know, and become an underground classic."
|
1507128
|
That’s a long time/
to live with the certainty/
of your death
|
150700
|
‘It's perfect,' said Maggie as she lay in the casket. Harold Barnes offered his hand. ‘It's a shame he never got to see it,' Maggie continued as she climbed free of the coffin.
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