1448 2 1
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Vietnam, Tet, and beaucoup Charlie
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1448128
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That’s a long time/
to live with the certainty/
of your death
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144842
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In the mode of Swinburne's ‘Dolores':For the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster- A study of the notion of “Intelligent Design” Since the universe came into dawning, If e'er this bright universe did, Men ought to know better in…
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144832
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I didn't feel when you cut out my spine I'd been throwing up all night couldn't even smell the rust …
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144831
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Sheep are very philosophical, I hear. Stop this hopeless dreaming.
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144832
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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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144795
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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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144730
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Every town has one. Or one at the very least...
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144733
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For me, it was that kind of moment. I got to come back. I had been here before and now, well now, I could come back. I had a chance to do it all again, bigger, better and well, just better. I hoped I could remember all that I learned the first time.
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144744
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1447126
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Have you heard this yet? The daughter flew home to care for the mother, whose pump is still tick ticking—though now with aid—which means she leaves the kitchen when the microwave clicks on.
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144766
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With their brightly-colored bits of
found string
woven into the walls of their nests
to teach their baby birds
what the worms of the future
will look like.
Somewhat like the
cave paintings of Lascaux
for early man in France,
when hunti
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144721
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if you don't quiver with anticipation you'll barely manage to explode
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144761
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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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144755
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In an authentic Irish pub in Las Vegas where over much crowd noise the three of us are discussing Yeats, Joyce and Lady Gregory. We’re in an Irish pub after all, plus the fact we’re literature profs attending a Vegas academic conference.
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144762
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144711
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There was no need to drive. She could travel ten miles in ten minutes. She merely had to be careful not to step on any cars or trucks.
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1447147
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At some point, you care/
just enough to wake each morning,
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1447116
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I suppose it was inevitable, This crashing of souls, This recognition of possibility to create. If we were younger, We would make a baby, The ultimate act of faith. Now it has to be something else, Nothing to force a track with night feedings, …
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144798
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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…
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144711
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My mother gave her all to convince him to be a politician. My sister begged on bleeding knees for him to give her head. I just needed somebody to help me find things.
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144742
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I got to see me the other day.
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144700
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The purple sweater brought out the blue in her eyes. Fantastic eyes made of ice, she was a stunner, and she knew it. I met her at Slabtown
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144662
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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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144653
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144644
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On a street-lit night in Jeddah.
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144664
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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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144666
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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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144632
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Sirens wake me, screaming warnings in the dark.
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1446107
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and where have the years sped
how distant was your youth
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