1481 5 1
|
There was no provision for keeping the post on the door, but I did not have the fingernails to pry it off.
|
148121
|
Vietnam, Tet, and beaucoup Charlie
|
148132
|
I am useless. A freak. Different. They all hate me now. All except you, of course. You will never leave me. Never. I'd kill them all if I could. Every single one. But twenty-four, that's a lot even for me. I'm so sick of the cliques; the special groups and hastily strung…
|
1481157
|
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.
|
148111
|
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.
|
1481115
|
Blue skies greet us as we exit the forest . . .
|
148041
|
This poem first appeared in “Walt’s Corner” of The Long Islander, founded by Walt Whitman in 1838.
|
148043
|
leaves, starlings and other words fall into thickets of orange or green grasses or tendrils or snakes
|
1480126
|
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.
|
148031
|
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.
|
148066
|
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
|
148078
|
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 …
|
1480116
|
fanned lashes on rouged cheek
a glamorous sea creature
in violet perfume
|
148012
|
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…
|
148054
|
Last night as a duration spent hovering in electronic media-space.
|
1480126
|
|
148041
|
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
|
147900
|
Rome and Carthage wage war as Hannibal crosses the Alps and invades Italy. With him, he brings an army of barbarian hordes hellbent on reducing Rome to ash. For one young Roman soldier, Gaius, he is trapped between his loyalties to the republic, and to hi
|
147987
|
There is a war, but is it not In my heart? There is a war, but You are not the reason. There is a War, but we're all doing what we can. There is a war, but it is not just Your fight. There is a war, but I Wished you still walked…
|
1479179
|
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.
|
147955
|
I opened the closet door and there stood Eugène Ionesco lost among our clothes.
|
147964
|
After the Tokyo experience, Frank and Michiko decided that when she went on extended tours, Frank would accompany her.
|
147900
|
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.
|
147973
|
Sometimes you have to go wild; you have just to go fucking nuts. You do.
|
147962
|
|
147950
|
Rumpelstiltskin cried
because you belong to me;
|
147943
|
Nights this husband returned home still hungry sometimes, even for her forearms against his own
|
147975
|
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,…
|
147995
|
We got a sandwich at Mr. Pickle's, but they cut the sandwich in the plastic. Plastic wrap.
|
147953
|
He looked like a black paper doorway pasted onto a painting of summer.
|
