1500 10 5
|
“Now,” my friend said. “Tell us about earthquakes. Can we expect one anytime soon?”
|
149910
|
Smiling, holding hands, Joe and Lara basked in the sunshine of the mid January day as they approached the diner. The temperature was warm enough for golf. Joe had played in far colder weather in spring and fall.
|
149944
|
Once or twice, it was only once or twice. Three times, if I really count. And I wasn't giving or loving. And my self stayed hidden and I kept most of my clothes on.
|
1499117
|
She had just done it in the backseat with the man she decided would be her father. Or maybe it was the cast of his eyes under the dim bar lights. Maybe she insisted that this had to be done, to relive the night under the stars, under a dented roof of a station…
|
149921
|
if you don't quiver with anticipation you'll barely manage to explode
|
149900
|
Aura arrives with the incense and her mysteries. Her scent of wet earth, and crushed flowers, a touch of Jasmine and Frankincense. Her dark hands passing over my body, her warmth. A whisper. A prayer.
|
149942
|
Dandelions wither as I approach and the grass dies under my feet.
|
1499119
|
When Chuck dies, I’ll throw/
a party and dance, a little drunk,/
across what I’ll pretend/
is the old shit’s grave.
|
149998
|
Regret takes the shape of little clouds ...
|
14991212
|
That afternoon she met me in the lobby of my hotel and we simply smiled at each other in the elevator going up to my room where we sat on the couch for about three hours and told of our lives, of being apart, for so many years, then sensing our time was nearly used up, I…
|
149944
|
I slide my CD toward Eric Burdon who sits, smiling and gracious and fatigued from Seattle traffic, at the table at Silver Platters, where I have just purchased ‘Til Your River Runs Dry, and stood in a line of old gray heads to have him sign it. I remove my hat and…
|
149911
|
Set your three-word story in prison.
|
149921
|
I am exceeded / by a leaf
|
149931
|
Sheep are very philosophical, I hear. Stop this hopeless dreaming.
|
149932
|
Boil (n.)––1. Pus-filled pustule inflammation of the skin, usually painful. 2. Slang boiled pus, bucket of (n. phrase)“Your asshole brain is a bucket of boiled pus.” (see also pus, SCOTTISH derogatory term for face.
|
149812
|
Johnny Rocket is on the I-pad, sad, He says, “Game on, King me, the Queen” Always "it", he eats pork rinds like mad, “King him again” high on amphetamine.In his sleep, ants come up from the floor board to eat french fries, cola, their aorta…
|
149877
|
It's become sort of a habit now when Elsie's husband is away on business two or three times a month that we take the afternoon off and drive nine miles across the river to Marginalia, Arkansas and the Moonglow Motel with its red, neon vacancy sign and although to some, two…
|
14981511
|
sentinels in a frost-blackened field
|
1498138
|
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.
|
149832
|
Michiko stood in front of Steinway Hall on West 57th Street.
|
149821
|
Ben was dreaming of sex with Claudia. But, in his dream, he could hear Dan Arris calling his name and pounding on a door. The fear of Dan Arris was pushing out the delights of Claudia.
|
1498107
|
You stretch my heart / in sacred ways
|
149841
|
"I am lying on my back and am confused."
|
149821
|
“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…
|
149872
|
|
149800
|
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
|
149864
|
your words that came crashing over me/
so cold the clear shock was like salt water
|
149865
|
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…
|
149866
|
He thought she should have come with an owner’s manual
So he would know how to operate the equipment
It was definitely more than he bargained for
Or knew how to handle
She was too hot
|
149876
|
Here the three o'clock sun is an old patched up fellow, with a stained yellow beard, walking in a small crispy rain of brown leaves, looking at something that requires a bit of squinting no one else can see, on the far side of the softening…
|
