1464 7 6
|
Get comfortable with criticism
|
146422
|
Suddenly I'm not feeling it anymore. /
Poetry has become insufficient. /
I can't do it like I used to.
|
146461
|
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…
|
146442
|
If this road could answer
I would ask her what it is like
to follow the path
of the rippleshimmery river
for too many miles
through the slowly ghosting towns
and the corncovered landscapes
of the dying Midwest
|
146464
|
your words that came crashing over me/
so cold the clear shock was like salt water
|
146432
|
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…
|
146443
|
No pain is private. How can it be?
|
146453
|
He looked like a black paper doorway pasted onto a painting of summer.
|
1464146
|
|
146455
|
She thinks this is the place she dreamed
|
146432
|
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.
|
146353
|
|
146352
|
Once there was a man who wrote in code. He was comfortable among substitutions
|
146344
|
|
1463158
|
Go diddle in the sand//
to save some other sinner/
a death of stones.
|
146332
|
Michiko stood in front of Steinway Hall on West 57th Street.
|
146331
|
I will show you how, in the spring,
the sidewalks here
look like a crossword puzzle resting under
a glass of lemonade,
|
1463115
|
As air warms and warm/
winds stir, green becomes the force/
that surges the plains.
|
146331
|
"Look Emily, I’m charging your solar powered calculator and helping you relieve your dependence on foreign oil."
|
146332
|
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…
|
146355
|
“If your work is good you will get published. Just keep at it."
|
146300
|
You cannot go back, you cannot go home, you cannot cannot cannot…Only in memory is it possible to travel back in time. We all imagine it. We relive happy moments, sad moments, we exist, time exists and it passes. We cannot stop it.
|
146354
|
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,…
|
146322
|
My Thursday head belonged to a former Miss Brazil named Rita.
|
146387
|
By the sixth - Dizz, Falstaff buzzed - Croons - The Wabash Cannonball
|
146331
|
I want to read a story that ends unhappily ever after: one where the bad guy wins and no one gets the girl.
|
146342
|
I got to see me the other day.
|
146351
|
It’s as she reaches into the fridge for the carton of half-and-half with the grainy waxy photo of the little girl—Last Seen 10/2/06—that the memory surfaces:
“Hey. That’s mine.”
|
146295
|
I recalled the one night stand I'd had with the girl one balmy summer night in Minneapolis. We lay on my bed in the moonlight, and I touched the nipples of her tiny breasts with the thumb and pinkie of one hand.
|
146241
|
This poem first appeared in “Walt’s Corner” of The Long Islander, founded by Walt Whitman in 1838.
|
