1518 9 4
|
Because you alone must know how to make a smile shine at me and be like the sun, I can only feel its warm and coolish colors becoming that perfectly deepened yellow then on to the red if you please that makes a shy kind of blue out of day. That…
|
151820
|
Each evening the man allowed himself an hour of fresh air. He and Prickles would situate themselves on the tiny balcony overlooking the same street, a blanket bundled around them both for warmth. These were the times he liked to talk to Prickles the most
|
1518106
|
gravel coughing up tires at 90 miles an hour
and just getting under way
|
151876
|
Get comfortable with criticism
|
151854
|
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.
|
151892
|
A cloudy autumn morning greeted Sean as he stepped from the trolley at Grand Central Station. On his way to the tracks he purchased a copy of The New York Times dated October 24, 1934.
|
151841
|
"I am lying on my back and am confused."
|
151821
|
“Apollo twenty-two. Come in.”, the voice crackled through the speakers of the aircraft. There was only silence broken by a solitary meow and the slight whistle of oxygenated air through the ventilation system. “Captain Snuggles, now that you…
|
151811
|
. . . nor did mine eye apologize.
|
151894
|
happily fling Molotov cocktails//
against ICE agents in armored vehicles/
and sing the pain of their burning deaths/
as triumph against asininity.
|
151820
|
"My sister's parrot admires your armpit," X-Lautrec says. "Would you be so kind as to nail an avocado seed to a cup of black coffee?"
|
151865
|
Shhh. I am here. Otillie Augustine, from Trieste, an Italian city to you, but when I lived it was part of Austria. Such things as who flies their flags over a city? Not so important after all, after all the losses and the victory speeches. These were not…
|
151885
|
|
151865
|
It sits up tall on its hind legs to take in all of whatever this is, big and bluer than the sky, death's own taxicab parked on its doorstep.
|
1517105
|
The washing machine at home was broken. It was an old leaky Maytag. A discouraging mess—twisted panties, sky-blue jeans, and an old lover or two or three floating downstream (the reverse of spawning salmon). Each man was slightly drowned,…
|
151743
|
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.
|
1517104
|
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
|
151762
|
We cannot cross the river until it freezes. Bekker predicts January. For food we gather leaves, berries and roots from the thick forest behind the cabin. Suarez boils what we find into a revolting paste that we spoon into our mouths with dirty fingers.
|
151753
|
Don reports everything to Uzma and Rasheed, I'm aware of that. It doesn't bother me. I'm not hiding anything from them or anyone else.
|
15172110
|
I approached him slowly. His voice was soft and raspy. He said, "Kneel down my son, I've been expecting you."
|
151721
|
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
|
151732
|
Sirens wake me, screaming warnings in the dark.
|
151754
|
We sat up in bed. It's two o'clock in the morning. Blinding circular flashlight beams probe through the half pulled shades. Magnified black silhouettes of men's torsos lumber back and forth in the yard. We are in a fishbowl and being invaded.
|
151741
|
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
|
151733
|
|
151777
|
Harvey C. Hamby was drunk. Usually he held his liquor well, but tonight he was off his form. Stumbling over an ottoman, he landed on the floor in a sodden sprawl. As he fell, his left foot shot out behind him and socked Glenda Steinberg in…
|
151742
|
"Mama skipped the training bras and just gave me her old bras. I'll be 25 before I can wear her old bras..."
|
15171411
|
|
151642
|
Anatoly Gringovitch took a swallow of beer, thoughtfully put the cap on his Ferrari da Varese custom fountain pen, and launched into his story:
|
151655
|
and pressed an area
on my forehead
between my eyes
|
