1440 6 1
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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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144042
|
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
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144062
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144033
|
I reach out and grab a can of soup with each hand and spin them around to dive into this much-heralded sodium situation. It's a landslide. I almost smile as I put low sodium back and continue to hold tightly onto regular.
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144087
|
The winter’s too warm for the bears to sleep,
and they get up in the middle of the night
with insomnia and wander about the streets
in their pajamas, knocking over garbage cans,
looking for a midnight snack of some kind.
They’re getting kind o
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1440116
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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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144063
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I looked down at Earth and imagined this porn star who’d asked for my help.
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1440115
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Blue skies greet us as we exit the forest . . .
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144031
|
Sheep are very philosophical, I hear. Stop this hopeless dreaming.
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144032
|
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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14391511
|
sentinels in a frost-blackened field
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143941
|
This poem first appeared in “Walt’s Corner” of The Long Islander, founded by Walt Whitman in 1838.
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143986
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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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143900
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A life in NYC was one I always dreamed of but I found myself turning into a bitter, sarcastic person who was losing the ability to see the silver lining in just about anything.
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143921
|
if you don't quiver with anticipation you'll barely manage to explode
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143932
|
I’m casing the place; my boyfriend Jimmy is about to bust in and rob the store.
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143942
|
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143931
|
It was more than just taste/
more than a point of view/
and oil and pigment/
that painted a store front church/
a box with a cross in a vacant lot/
that welcomed desperation, faith/
and imagination.
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143921
|
Vietnam, Tet, and beaucoup Charlie
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143920
|
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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143987
|
By the sixth - Dizz, Falstaff buzzed - Croons - The Wabash Cannonball
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143911
|
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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1439117
|
You are a warm winter
Despite the presence of snow
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143956
|
Sometimes I think living in a house with so many rooms /
you can get lost just making your way to the fridge /
should be enough. I chastise myself for wanting more.
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143900
|
“I believe this is a case that is very much worth our time. Its probably the most important case thus far in your reign,” Henry said, “my lord.”
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143854
|
I got no good hubcaps
My van is up on bricks
It's held together with duct tape
And a couple of crummy sticks
I caught the guy who did this
And tied him to a tree
I kicked him in the windpipe
And kicked him in the knee
I'm a man witho
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143821
|
The blaring scream from my alarm clock suffices as my wake-up call. It disrupts me from my dream state that I so rarely get the privilege to experience any more. I've always loathed that alarm clock, so I turn it off in the most sensibly aggressive manner I know how: just…
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143831
|
My beloved lets me crawl into bed
and put my feet on him
since his skin is
warm and hot like a fire roaring from within
his soft flesh.
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143833
|
She calls me by my name. She says I am her daughter.
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143862
|
Speaking of stiff nipples, I heard you once wanted to become a painter, because of your fondness for nipples. Feeling like Gauguin and his little Polynesian women/girls, are we? So, you're going to try to out-paint God, are you, Mr. Sistine Chapel of the
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