1483 3 1
|
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...
|
148321
|
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…
|
1483126
|
Have you heard this yet? The daughter flew home to care for the mother, whose pump is still tick ticking—though now with aid—which means she leaves the kitchen when the microwave clicks on.
|
148366
|
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
|
1483128
|
the two become one where/
all things end,
|
148333
|
Who hasn’t at some point of the day wanted to dredge up everything in your pocket just to see what it is.
|
1483157
|
Her voice gets screechy as she talks of the boy he was caught fondling in the bathroom of a bowling alley. The worst part: the dumb schmuck doesn’t even bowl.
|
148395
|
We got a sandwich at Mr. Pickle's, but they cut the sandwich in the plastic. Plastic wrap.
|
148312
|
I was an alcoholic for ten years, starting in my early twenties and continuing into my thirties. Then finally, after many attempts, I got myself straightened out. My son's birth finally did it for me. It wasn't like a switch flipped in the delivery room…
|
148334
|
But the restaurants put pig in every little dish. You couldn't eat there without encountering some portion of pig. It was in everything, including the cabbage. Who puts pig in the cabbage? I'm asking you. And in the dumplings too. For God's sake, give it
|
148387
|
By the sixth - Dizz, Falstaff buzzed - Croons - The Wabash Cannonball
|
148353
|
He looked like a black paper doorway pasted onto a painting of summer.
|
1483117
|
You are a warm winter
Despite the presence of snow
|
148311
|
It matters little who thought of it first, what mattered was the schism. Or, to be more accurate, those on the opposite sides of the schism. And, of course, you are a part of this, dear reader. You are of one side or the other.
|
1482179
|
A woman who is, say, a culinary arts champion or an heiress devoted to literature such as Bryher (Annie Winifred Ellerman) or Peggy Guggenheim might be able to turn me on, turn me out, turn me around.
|
148243
|
leaves, starlings and other words fall into thickets of orange or green grasses or tendrils or snakes
|
148252
|
We talk of his time in the jungle.
|
148254
|
this is where we end --
the exorbitant eye of forgotten days.
|
148200
|
You shine brightest under a starlit skyThe moon reflects your beautyAs the wind sings your name sweetlyIt was under the heavens that we promised togetherThat I'll hold your hand and you'll be mine forever... You glow brightest when the sun is at its highestYour radiant…
|
148242
|
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
|
148278
|
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 …
|
148251
|
There was no provision for keeping the post on the door, but I did not have the fingernails to pry it off.
|
148221
|
Vietnam, Tet, and beaucoup Charlie
|
148243
|
Nights this husband returned home still hungry sometimes, even for her forearms against his own
|
1482116
|
fanned lashes on rouged cheek
a glamorous sea creature
in violet perfume
|
148264
|
She stiffens and blusters and roars
Not like a storm,
Not like a lion.
Like a badger, caught in the steel jaws of a trap.
|
148200
|
Would we have been satisfied with a humble butter sculpture of a cow in 1960? Puh-lease! Would Parisians of the Impressionist era swoon over a big-eyed child picture?
|
1482126
|
|
148241
|
That is the question,
not to be or not to be
Life, death, whether to be,
all that is superfluous
in the face of laughter
and how to achieve it
under extraordinary circumstances
like not drinking anymore
I’m afraid not all the alcoh
|
148110
|
On Friday evenings they play Scrabble, a whole crowd of them. They use books to keep score, page numbers, instead of a long column of pencil scratches. They organize themselves into teams; the English majors all together, versus biology, history and horn players. She and he…
|
