1464 4 2
|
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
|
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.
|
146362
|
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…
|
146352
|
Once there was a man who wrote in code. He was comfortable among substitutions
|
1463102
|
|
146344
|
|
1463158
|
Go diddle in the sand//
to save some other sinner/
a death of stones.
|
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."
|
146355
|
“If your work is good you will get published. Just keep at it."
|
146361
|
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…
|
146332
|
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…
|
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,…
|
146343
|
No pain is private. How can it be?
|
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.
|
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.
|
146253
|
|
146232
|
Michiko stood in front of Steinway Hall on West 57th Street.
|
146241
|
This poem first appeared in “Walt’s Corner” of The Long Islander, founded by Walt Whitman in 1838.
|
146264
|
After the Tokyo experience, Frank and Michiko decided that when she went on extended tours, Frank would accompany her.
|
146200
|
Oh, you aren't going to lecture us, for heaven's sake?
|
146266
|
I feel his hand on my face, feel it brush past my lips, and I taste my sister's blood.
|
1462103
|
’m sure they have their/
cleverest working on it, though.
|
