1366 10 5
|
Cultivate your vaginal tears
at the gates of Thigh and Holy.
|
136631
|
I just amuse myself by buying old guns and refurbishing them in my basement as I listen to old Bohemian polkas on cassettes.
|
136661
|
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…
|
136634
|
But what “is” retirement? All of the previous sections in a life are full of detailed descriptions. But “retirement” is somehow left rather vague. One would think that retirement would be the long-awaited GOAL of life. But instead we are left with the
|
136695
|
"Possible candidates for reading to a crowd"
the subject line of the email to myself read.
You see, writing can be hard -
or writing can be easy.
But writing for a crowd you'll see is something else entirely.
|
136643
|
Breathe a stench of Eton musk...
|
1366103
|
I am confused by your new paper-doll look, btw. Could you please look regular again by Thursday?
|
136685
|
—Jesus, that bastard has everyone in his pocket.
|
1366117
|
You are a warm winter
Despite the presence of snow
|
136611
|
Shirley stubbed her cigarillo out on a dead chunk of honeycomb.
|
136553
|
It's 2am. The wind is moving at speed, whipping gently the tree branches, and their leaves rustle simultaneously to create a audible sound, like hands flipping through sheets of paper, or that feeling you get on your fingertips when going across a textured surface. I'm…
|
136586
|
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…
|
1365109
|
My student assistant was a comely young woman. A freckle faced blonde. She was from Ohio.
|
136500
|
I remember one time when we played strip poker in the basement of your house on Euclid Avenue, me, Terry, you and Andy. And I remember drinking lots of wine and fixing the deck so that you kept losing and having to take off all your clothes, and still you
|
1365158
|
i hear the boom boom boom
in the room room room
|
136500
|
We trade broken phrases of English, Arabic...
|
136511
|
He roared back at her, shaking his empty gun in his right hand, waving his left hand in the air. “I am George Burnett, esquire, late of Balliol College, Oxford! I am a hunter, a killer of pigs! I do not fear you, bear; take the pig and be content!”
|
136521
|
At eight o' clock: as, drawn by many bells, The patchwork congregation lopes and stalks, To churches far from serenade of shells To storms, we leave behind the windblown walks, And sails of youth, to glide through liquid hells, A temporal…
|
1365128
|
the two become one where/
all things end,
|
136575
|
This late November day there are too many leaves filling the yard.
|
136553
|
Oh my god - A plagiarizing pony - I know someone must have said that before
|
136500
|
Early in the morning
I wanted to send you something
for when you wake;
|
136534
|
“That pool will be the death of me.”Which Dad said at least a couple of times a week. Ten times the week after he'd read the TXU bill.“Goddamn pump, and that twitchy little Polaris. We should fill that pool with dirt and plant some trees and Asian…
|
136544
|
A rope is cleaner,
he explains with a straight face.
He's calmed by the visual.
|
136501
|
“Hi, I'm Mike, and I don't wanna work ... Wanna play foos?”
|
136563
|
I looked down at Earth and imagined this porn star who’d asked for my help.
|
136400
|
Slipping into the Sydney Harbour Tunnel like a nocturnal creature fleeing the light, tears stream down my cheeks, spilling from my lips, the pain too great to care about self-preservation. Drunk still, hands clenched, I strain to focus on the world fading into a blur of…
|
1364101
|
These are the three facts of my life.
|
136455
|
"I was born very far from where I'm supposed to be. And so I'm on my way home."--Bob Dylan I don't owe you anything. If I'm a recluse what does it have to do with you? I have the right to be poor. Some things cannot be explained away by letters that…
|
136411
|
The dance draws deeper
whirling witches weaving rhymes
The fire spits fierce in the falling rain
soon the spell will spill from secret times
|
