1443 9 9
|
Its odors of quicklime/
and pyre-smoke will curl/
commingled in acrid air.
|
144200
|
Mort’s hand-mind suffered electrifying-absence-emptiness; no wife.
|
144255
|
and pressed an area
on my forehead
between my eyes
|
144244
|
|
1442158
|
Go diddle in the sand//
to save some other sinner/
a death of stones.
|
144222
|
Suddenly I'm not feeling it anymore. /
Poetry has become insufficient. /
I can't do it like I used to.
|
144222
|
I do not know the species of birds here. /
The two I see playing on the balcony at night /
I can never call back.
|
144200
|
Alysia’s eyes turned to Megumi where her sister nodded. Alysia took a deep breath and stepped back. There was a moment’s hesitation, but she felt Megumi’s hand gripping her wrist.
|
144232
|
Billy took acid and blatzed into a 7-11, holding his dick like he hoped the store guy would think the thing was an Uzi. The guy laughed his ass off, reached under the counter, and pulled out a .38…
|
144296
|
As I walked down to the Subway, I thought to myself that now, after the horror in Boston, everybody looks like a terrorist.
|
144275
|
Cicadas shed their skin as they grow, leaving crisp hollowed out remains on tree trunks, fence posts, and the undersides of upturned leaves. Tommy and I would collect them in the early morning and stick them to our clothes like brooches. I used to like Tommy,…
|
144232
|
Lama’s mother is dead. She died when Lama was just outgrowing her ballet tutus. When Lama talks about it, it is with the air of one who picks honeysuckle over jasmine. It gives sunshine, she says, to graves. Our epitaphs are so mechanical otherwise.
Un
|
144298
|
I don't think you understand. A sad boy doesn't just die inside, slowly, he becomes withdrawn from certain types of lovely youthful reasoning out loud, accustomed to feeling what is expected, graded, just to be allowed to survive another…
|
144242
|
I got to see me the other day.
|
144122
|
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.
|
144176
|
Get comfortable with criticism
|
144100
|
|
144163
|
It is midnight in Utah, but I can’t tell. It always looks like midnight in a cave.
|
144161
|
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…
|
144132
|
Sirens wake me, screaming warnings in the dark.
|
144194
|
happily fling Molotov cocktails//
against ICE agents in armored vehicles/
and sing the pain of their burning deaths/
as triumph against asininity.
|
144177
|
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…
|
144163
|
I looked down at Earth and imagined this porn star who’d asked for my help.
|
144142
|
Better not hand me that iPhone. I'll look up every damned thing in it.
|
144053
|
|
14401511
|
sentinels in a frost-blackened field
|
144020
|
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
|
1440138
|
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.
|
144041
|
This poem first appeared in “Walt’s Corner” of The Long Islander, founded by Walt Whitman in 1838.
|
144094
|
When we are given eternity, as a night is eternal
|
