1543 7 6
|
Get comfortable with criticism
|
1543108
|
like the Bible in / Mauritania, like a mouse in a vial of ammonia, / like a retired coal miner on vacation in the Alps
|
154333
|
he wanders the house/ crying for the hairless tomcat/ (gone for the night/ on an overnight job).
|
154362
|
The machines are alive but she is not. The pads keep her face from being irritated but my mind isn't so lucky."Let me GO!" she cries....at least that's what I hear. They are waiting for permission for her to go. Eager hesitation best describes the tense…
|
154322
|
My Thursday head belonged to a former Miss Brazil named Rita.
|
154361
|
The lipstick on your collar walked up the steps and through the front door, without a key. Her smile was hypnotically red and bountiful. The guards standing around didn't dare frisk her for weapons, her lips were weapon enough.
|
154300
|
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
|
1542103
|
We are what we are, and that is zombies.
|
1542138
|
Spying is a different concern. Privacy also. I feel there is a loss of privacy just in believing or realizing it is possible; our forebears did not experience loss of privacy digitally, perhaps in another way.
|
154254
|
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.
|
154220
|
When they tell you to choose your last meal, it probably hasn't dawned on you yet.
|
154252
|
The night sky was washed gray by city lights.
|
154296
|
As I walked down to the Subway, I thought to myself that now, after the horror in Boston, everybody looks like a terrorist.
|
154200
|
The eyelid of the sink blinks silence. The clocks choke on smoke.
|
154294
|
happily fling Molotov cocktails//
against ICE agents in armored vehicles/
and sing the pain of their burning deaths/
as triumph against asininity.
|
154265
|
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…
|
154211
|
Shirley stubbed her cigarillo out on a dead chunk of honeycomb.
|
154211
|
Set your three-word story in prison.
|
154111
|
He did many things for love: Once he placed his tongue in his boyfriend’s nostril during sex, because he seemed to have read in the internet that this was a “thing” among the younger of their social class...
|
1541106
|
gravel coughing up tires at 90 miles an hour
and just getting under way
|
154100
|
Why did he seek punishment, if he felt no guilt? Why this empty conscious, though he had done such evil?
|
154120
|
I woke up pissed off—like that feeling you get when you take a long nap in the afternoon. Except instead of being on a couch or a bed, I was trapped in a mashed-up Honda on I-75.
|
154101
|
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.
|
154121
|
if you don't quiver with anticipation you'll barely manage to explode
|
154132
|
Sirens wake me, screaming warnings in the dark.
|
154120
|
A dream that seems
Impossible
When fresh blood soaks the ground
|
1541116
|
Five evangelists in bathing suits
baptize a man
while green chilies
roast on a Ferris wheel rotisserie
|
154132
|
I am useless. A freak. Different. They all hate me now. All except you, of course. You will never leave me. Never. I'd kill them all if I could. Every single one. But twenty-four, that's a lot even for me. I'm so sick of the cliques; the special groups and hastily strung…
|
154111
|
Colton nods, without words, understanding the significance of every word that the Old Man has uttered, knowing that in the end, given enough time, we all go down that lonely corner, to embrace the darkness, wishing to be cured of our sentiments.
|
154110
|
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.
|
