1483 1 1
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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.
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148331
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I want to read a story that ends unhappily ever after: one where the bad guy wins and no one gets the girl.
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148341
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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
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148200
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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
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148241
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This poem first appeared in “Walt’s Corner” of The Long Islander, founded by Walt Whitman in 1838.
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148264
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After the Tokyo experience, Frank and Michiko decided that when she went on extended tours, Frank would accompany her.
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148266
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I feel his hand on my face, feel it brush past my lips, and I taste my sister's blood.
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148200
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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.
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148254
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this is where we end --
the exorbitant eye of forgotten days.
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148200
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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…
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148278
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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 …
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148273
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Sometimes you have to go wild; you have just to go fucking nuts. You do.
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148243
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The shirts hanging by the back veranda serve as our memorial to them.
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148244
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Lying on a high seat in the south study, this is what I see:
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148200
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Even the old medicine woman seemed to grin with a perverted sort of understanding when she opened the door to find Lys waiting outside. She was comfortable nowhere and ready to flee at any moment.
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148280
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Joe's, always smelling of cherry chapstick or the breeze that comes up from subway grates, used to service some of the finest dupes in town.
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148200
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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?
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148121
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An excellent plan. Just like old times.
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1481158
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Go diddle in the sand//
to save some other sinner/
a death of stones.
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148130
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Connor didn't bother to wait in the line of busy professionals, opting to cut in front of the sign that announced "Line Forms At Other End."
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148131
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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.
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148110
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Another noise, softer than the first: swish, thud. You are still. The house is very loud tonight.
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14811312
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My wife, Sheila, inadvertently clicked my e-mail address, too, when she sent her reply back to him and I read her poet friend's message that her love opened the window of his heart and she replied that his words were knocks that opened the door to her being, then I stood…
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148121
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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…
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1481128
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We suffer//
the one agony only- of having no longer/
any physical effect nor way to speak/
of what we watch to those we watch.
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148162
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Speaking of stiff nipples, I heard you once wanted to become a painter, because of your fondness for nipples. Feeling like Gauguin and his little Polynesian women/girls, are we? So, you're going to try to out-paint God, are you, Mr. Sistine Chapel of the
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148122
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148175
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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,…
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148141
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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…
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148131
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We all know that sometimes miracles happen and sometimes they don't. Some days are good and some days go by slowly as the fatigue sets in and he realizes that he is fighting cancer.
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