1532 2 1
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The sun becomes hot. She removes her skirt. She is left with a black bodice, with white laces, leggings underneath and a pair of twelve hole Doc Martens.
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1532103
|
’m sure they have their/
cleverest working on it, though.
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153233
|
he wanders the house/ crying for the hairless tomcat/ (gone for the night/ on an overnight job).
|
153245
|
The stick had a head and a face and a swirling robe, all etched in wood.
It was the 14th Dalai Lama.
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1532118
|
They could occupy the space//
left by creatures larger and more/
evolved.
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153243
|
Nights this husband returned home still hungry sometimes, even for her forearms against his own
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153294
|
happily fling Molotov cocktails//
against ICE agents in armored vehicles/
and sing the pain of their burning deaths/
as triumph against asininity.
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153265
|
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…
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1532109
|
I offer you a peanut butter sandwich full of unconditional love
and you say I'm being controlling, so I let you eat cake, eat cake.
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153211
|
There was no need to drive. She could travel ten miles in ten minutes. She merely had to be careful not to step on any cars or trucks.
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153200
|
Over by the swimming pool singing - Hey hey it’s okay - A line from a song he heard - On the stereo when we were driving in the car - On the way to sign the papers to get - His grandfather released from the hospital
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153211
|
Set your three-word story in prison.
|
153142
|
Anatoly Gringovitch took a swallow of beer, thoughtfully put the cap on his Ferrari da Varese custom fountain pen, and launched into his story:
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1531112
|
The water lapped against the sides of the small boat, their rhythm all that I could think of. Sweltering rays beat down, frying my flesh, the insipid salty breeze that occasionally stirred my only relief from it. Gulls circled overhead, like white ravens,
|
1531106
|
gravel coughing up tires at 90 miles an hour
and just getting under way
|
153161
|
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?
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1531168
|
Fear the air and fear the fire./
Fear the land and fear the water./
Creation is out to get you, speck,
|
153155
|
“If your work is good you will get published. Just keep at it."
|
153111
|
Wherever you decide to grow
Please remember to ask the dirt
‘Am I still dust’
|
153110
|
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.
|
153143
|
Soon, out of the womb ‘down there' is nuance. It guides you, like a legality, like your own breathing, in and out of overtone, hardcore hodgepodges, those inklings near sacrosanct beyond breakfront negligees and neo-negligence leading the good life. Isn't it…
|
153183
|
A Beatles haircut and loose Khaki painters overalls rendered the child sexless. He or she walked over to Hugh’s side and standing tiptoe peered into the casket. She, for Hugh had determined it was a girl, stroked the silk lining.
|
153199
|
Its odors of quicklime/
and pyre-smoke will curl/
commingled in acrid air.
|
153121
|
I am exceeded / by a leaf
|
1530104
|
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
|
153041
|
"I am lying on my back and am confused."
|
153096
|
As I walked down to the Subway, I thought to myself that now, after the horror in Boston, everybody looks like a terrorist.
|
153001
|
I take her hand. More grey dust rolls off the arms, over the railing, into the wind. It’s embarrassing and I let go. I think she told me to throw them away months ago.
I rub her bare thigh. She laughs real soft like. The corner of her lip curls up.
|
153000
|
Keiko covered her arm while holding the staff. She looked up and saw morning breaking through the sky, but something was unusual about it.
|
153054
|
Mon wakes up surrounded by trees. The light is grey, the trunks black.How long have I slept? he wonders.He doesn't know which way to walk. In every direction, the same prospect of trees. He looks up at a blank sky. No sign even of the sun.***He starts walking. Slowly,…
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