1427 17 11
|
Neither of us thought of real winning. We set about brilliant losing, dark angel forms of luck and greed, the desire, the craving, the need to lose so strenuous that one wins; we tied at thirteen.
|
142710
|
The parrots woke Eddie up. That and Rocker snoring in the twin bed. A thousand parrots flying over the motel? They squawked, God how they…
|
142731
|
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.
|
142755
|
“If your work is good you will get published. Just keep at it."
|
142761
|
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…
|
142742
|
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
|
142778
|
In and out of morphine dreams, he flies through the unfinished roof of Illinois sky. Below, matchbox-sized farm machines. A silo becomes his father's thermos, the silver-capped tower from which he stole sips at ten, his first secret. Back …
|
142721
|
Vietnam, Tet, and beaucoup Charlie
|
1427116
|
fanned lashes on rouged cheek
a glamorous sea creature
in violet perfume
|
1427189
|
I want to tell you how the odor of the flowers/felt her funeral day
|
142776
|
Here the three o'clock sun is an old patched up fellow, with a stained yellow beard, walking in a small crispy rain of brown leaves, looking at something that requires a bit of squinting no one else can see, on the far side of the softening…
|
142700
|
This story is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and unintentional and should not be inferred. (Really!)
|
14271511
|
When Lois finally found him down there, Johnny was wedged between a large rock and the trunk of an old, long since fallen, cottonwood tree. She said as she got to him, she heard his gurgling breath, fighting fiercely to stay alive. When she saw the deep, gathering, red…
|
142798
|
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 A sad boy doesn't just die inside, slowly, he becomes withdrawn from certain types of lovely youthful reasoning out loud, accustomed to feeling what is expected, graded, just to be allowed to survive another…
|
142733
|
|
142743
|
The first of the fires that started by the river in the abandoned mills were so hot they burned white and pale blue
|
142731
|
Sheep are very philosophical, I hear. Stop this hopeless dreaming.
|
142661
|
|
142620
|
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…
|
142652
|
|
1426117
|
She had just done it in the backseat with the man she decided would be her father. Or maybe it was the cast of his eyes under the dim bar lights. Maybe she insisted that this had to be done, to relive the night under the stars, under a dented roof of a station…
|
14261010
|
I dreamt I was raped the other night. Sometimes it was me, that is, and sometimes it was another woman with a dark bouffant hair-do. Definitely outside though and the hulking back of the man was covered by a charcoal wool…
|
142632
|
As I gripped the wheel and stared at the expanse above my head, my compass spun wildly. Something wasn't quite right
|
142694
|
When we are given eternity, as a night is eternal
|
142631
|
Sweaty feet, drool from the weighty sleep of mid-afternoon naps, the inescapable perspiration of the South: all combine to create the entwined scent of socks and stale toothbrushes...
|
1426105
|
Cultivate your vaginal tears
at the gates of Thigh and Holy.
|
142666
|
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
|
142642
|
who can quite say/when careless talk & confidence/slips into that other charged thing/so minimal at first
|
142600
|
Fat Patty sniffs the delicate waft of peat and sidles over, proffering a grope in exchange for a few wet-lipped swigs. Hell yes.
|
142664
|
your words that came crashing over me/
so cold the clear shock was like salt water
|
