1452 2 1
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Vietnam, Tet, and beaucoup Charlie
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145244
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I slide my CD toward Eric Burdon who sits, smiling and gracious and fatigued from Seattle traffic, at the table at Silver Platters, where I have just purchased ‘Til Your River Runs Dry, and stood in a line of old gray heads to have him sign it. I remove my hat and…
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14511011
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I fall in love with a second cousin at the picnic. I make sure I sit next to her.
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145195
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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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1451107
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Dreams / of being a millionaire are replaced by dreams / of being a billionaire
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1451102
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145141
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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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145110
|
What if
Everything
I have been doing
Hasn’t been heard
By anyone?
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145140
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Then it started extruding tendrils and tying them all into intricate knots.
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145164
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In a field of barley, I see you, ...
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145142
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If white t-shirts are only an SPF of 8, she couldn’t even imagine what a white nylon-mesh umbrella on this godforsaken beach might be in terms of protection.
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145132
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I’m casing the place; my boyfriend Jimmy is about to bust in and rob the store.
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145162
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145150
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Rumpelstiltskin cried
because you belong to me;
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145175
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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,…
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145186
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I wrote her a poem.She said, “I hate poetry.” I said, “OK, just read the words then."
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145132
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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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145120
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Each had jostled and laboured for his or her place upon the blunt outcrop, in the cold persistent darkness, where the outcrop was merely something that had fallen and not quite been washed away.
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145195
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1451116
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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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145110
|
It was an eagle in the waves
Those eyes make no mistake
Especially from a mile high
Blue fish and tuna
Too dumb to run
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145142
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I got to see me the other day.
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145155
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She thinks this is the place she dreamed
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145132
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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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145011
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This is 57% of middle America, I'm convinced: doomed.
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145062
|
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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145020
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They think because you are a writer you are not much of a listener and so you begin to recognize all of the great opportunities to be much more of a listener and then you shut your trap and get sucked into the whorls of her big wet brown eyes with Italianate…
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145001
|
She could see him doing these things but she could not hear him.
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145086
|
It was your present world that seemed more than mad to me. Your polished stiff brown shoes that always squeaked like mice, while the latest rude Bombers bubbled up in their comfortable Dart-board garages like apple pies…
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145055
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I opened the closet door and there stood Eugène Ionesco lost among our clothes.
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