1489 10 11
|
I fall in love with a second cousin at the picnic. I make sure I sit next to her.
|
148922
|
The light of day is screaming,
shook by the calls of howler monkeys,
their low roar hanging in the salt,
in the black sand riding the wind,
as Playa Negra outstretches its infinite arms.
|
148943
|
They found your athymic neck/clipped like a bag of Skittles/and your lifeblood left a Rorschach test on the dash/in which they saw the future/and their own exits/(straight ahead and to the right).
|
148931
|
I will show you how, in the spring,
the sidewalks here
look like a crossword puzzle resting under
a glass of lemonade,
|
1489103
|
I am going to quit clicking refresh, only because it is clear nothing is happening out there. After I click refresh just one more time, that is, and then I am closing the window. After clicking one more last time. …
|
148976
|
Get comfortable with criticism
|
14891610
|
|
148920
|
I can't believe it's Frankie, but there he is at a table on the far side, just in front of the big picture window. I hold the menu close to my face and peek again over the top, watching as he reaches under the white linen tablecloth to plant…
|
148967
|
I love you because your eyes are both crossed
When you do it, because you’re focused
On the inside of the universe
I love you because
You’re on a roller coaster
Through life
And I can ride along
For the thrill of it
I love you because
|
148961
|
She burps in beauty, like a frog
Who sits on lily pad so green,
Resounding nightly in his bog
But to my eyes unseen.
|
14891210
|
I. Two cancer scares since June, one came up nothing the other nothing much. (My breasts are dense: I know all about moles— little bastards don't have to get sun to go nuts.) My manuscript travels ether to…
|
148920
|
“I do not know if you can hear me, or if you can talk to me. Some people do not believe in people like you, you know, spirits, ghosts or whatever you are. I do. I know you are here because of what happened here.” I could not speak. I did not feel I could.
|
148965
|
I found a diseased fish / wedged between some boulders near the pier
|
1489119
|
A cheap pocket knife was the only sharp I carried in my backpack and they allowed me that. The man with the pot tattoo on his neck said, “All of us here needs some type of knife. You gotta cut up your food. We don't…
|
148944
|
A rope is cleaner,
he explains with a straight face.
He's calmed by the visual.
|
148800
|
Mezereon’s giant dragon heart marveled at the girl’s revelations. First, he was heartsick for her and the sad state of things back where she had come to him from. Secondly, he was aghast to learn she was a princess; for even dragons know and respect r
|
148821
|
Sit down at night and stare into the fire. Consider if Cupid is just another liar.
|
148832
|
I used to be a poet, you know. /
Better, in many respects, than you.
|
1488112
|
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,
|
148852
|
Once there was a man who wrote in code. He was comfortable among substitutions
|
148800
|
Meanwhile it was four o'clock in the morning, Pacific time. Seven o'clock eastern. The cat was busy chasing imaginary mice around the hammock—at least Manuel hoped the mice were imaginary. He loaded the next digital images onto the screen. It seemed to
|
148822
|
Suddenly I'm not feeling it anymore. /
Poetry has become insufficient. /
I can't do it like I used to.
|
148833
|
Welcome the one and the all of you, welcome all you scraggly long haired weeds, welcome the no longer rolling stones of the new you, welcome you most beautiful little wonderfully…
|
148852
|
The night sky was washed gray by city lights.
|
148861
|
I would like to go back (with spade, pick, soft bristles), and sift through time and layers, brush away the intervening years, and find: the tooth, knocked out by my then best friend, when we were seven, careening downhill in my father's wheelbarrow on Boscobel…
|
1488109
|
...clash of gulls
wend upwards, disappearing into grey
night's high tide recedes
|
148843
|
No pain is private. How can it be?
|
148867
|
The currents of events/
strip the molecules from cartilage,//
reverse polarity of ventricles—
|
148800
|
Who is the torturer and who is the tortured?
|
148822
|
My Thursday head belonged to a former Miss Brazil named Rita.
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