1365 11 5
|
As air warms and warm/
winds stir, green becomes the force/
that surges the plains.
|
136588
|
You've had some truly awful shit pumped into your brains for years at a time now. The practice started a long time ago. It's not always your fault. The only lasting way to get it out of your head is to go and figure out exactly where…
|
1365138
|
The bathroom faucet is leaking again. Do they make diapers for faucets?
|
136551
|
you'd do him more of a favor to kill him, than place upon him the burden of such an abrupt change in travel plans.
|
136500
|
You cannot go back, you cannot go home, you cannot cannot cannot…Only in memory is it possible to travel back in time. We all imagine it. We relive happy moments, sad moments, we exist, time exists and it passes. We cannot stop it.
|
136553
|
God’s hearing aid is missing
And apparently needs an enormous battery
But no one has the
heart to tell Him
because who wants to be
shouting at God?
|
136541
|
I'm in the boardroom, downtown in San Francisco. I don't even remember showing up for work today. I hope they fire me, just like they fired Bill. Well not exactly like that, that was awful. He was caught downloading a phenomenal amount of…
|
136554
|
Uzma dashes up the stairs ahead of me . . .
|
136532
|
The Italian was late. She was supposed to come into the store, meet him in the back, and arrange to take the last of his liquor.
|
136532
|
He painted a woman on them, identical to the woman that kneeled by his bed.
|
136520
|
“I do not know if you can hear me, or if you can talk to me. Some people do not believe in people like you, you know, spirits, ghosts or whatever you are. I do. I know you are here because of what happened here.” I could not speak. I did not feel I could.
|
136576
|
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…
|
136564
|
Poetry is conceit; emotional, intellectual or technical.
|
1365117
|
You are a warm winter
Despite the presence of snow
|
136501
|
“Hi, I'm Mike, and I don't wanna work ... Wanna play foos?”
|
136532
|
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.
|
136465
|
|
136466
|
I feel his hand on my face, feel it brush past my lips, and I taste my sister's blood.
|
136443
|
And he was wearing a mask. Gorilla mask over his gorilla face.
|
1364169
|
The blood is memorable/
as is the copper taste of that/
momentary certainty of lockjaw.
|
136441
|
Zusman snored on the sofa as Motel gathered his belongings in the dark. He moved quietly as had become his custom in the mornings. Initially he had tried not to wake his nephew on his way to work in the…
|
1364129
|
Enumerate the small delights/ this bright first morning
|
1364103
|
I am confused by your new paper-doll look, btw. Could you please look regular again by Thursday?
|
136487
|
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
|
136422
|
Meet Carl. He's six-three, two hundred and thirty pounds. He has light-brown hair,…
|
136498
|
Regret takes the shape of little clouds ...
|
13641212
|
That afternoon she met me in the lobby of my hotel and we simply smiled at each other in the elevator going up to my room where we sat on the couch for about three hours and told of our lives, of being apart, for so many years, then sensing our time was nearly used up, I…
|
136411
|
Andrew had learned the art of being a chameleon at school where his school uniform provided an exoskeleton. Beneath was no costume, just the fragile skin of adolescent ego.
|
13631011
|
I fall in love with a second cousin at the picnic. I make sure I sit next to her.
|
136386
|
Our painter man was killed by a bunch of snotty kids who were making fun of him. A gun went off. What is a noodle to do? He wasn't sitting alone in his world, anymore. Where was his famous straw hat? His trusty pipe? He desperately needed to smoke…
|
