1464 3 2
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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.
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146322
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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.
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146362
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INSTRUCTIONS: To all students, please address your index card: "To the Finder of this Balloon." Beneath that, write something that will encourage the finder to email you back. Then tape the index card to your balloon's string.Happy Ballooning! To the Finder…
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146352
|
Once there was a man who wrote in code. He was comfortable among substitutions
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1463102
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1463158
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Go diddle in the sand//
to save some other sinner/
a death of stones.
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146331
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I will show you how, in the spring,
the sidewalks here
look like a crossword puzzle resting under
a glass of lemonade,
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146365
|
I know someone in need of healing.
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1463115
|
As air warms and warm/
winds stir, green becomes the force/
that surges the plains.
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146331
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"Look Emily, I’m charging your solar powered calculator and helping you relieve your dependence on foreign oil."
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146320
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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…
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146354
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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,…
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146343
|
No pain is private. How can it be?
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146322
|
My Thursday head belonged to a former Miss Brazil named Rita.
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146387
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By the sixth - Dizz, Falstaff buzzed - Croons - The Wabash Cannonball
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146353
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He looked like a black paper doorway pasted onto a painting of summer.
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146331
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I want to read a story that ends unhappily ever after: one where the bad guy wins and no one gets the girl.
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146253
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Magdalena followed the receding tide, her tiny feet leaving no rumors in the hard sand. She gathered only the most beautiful shells and presented them to her waiting Abuela. Her grandmother told her that the only things that a woman truly owns are her dreams. She told her…
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146295
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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.
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146244
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146232
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Michiko stood in front of Steinway Hall on West 57th Street.
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146241
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This poem first appeared in “Walt’s Corner” of The Long Islander, founded by Walt Whitman in 1838.
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146264
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After the Tokyo experience, Frank and Michiko decided that when she went on extended tours, Frank would accompany her.
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146200
|
Oh, you aren't going to lecture us, for heaven's sake?
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146266
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I feel his hand on my face, feel it brush past my lips, and I taste my sister's blood.
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1462103
|
’m sure they have their/
cleverest working on it, though.
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146232
|
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…
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146255
|
“If your work is good you will get published. Just keep at it."
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146261
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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…
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146232
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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…
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