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We’re going to talk about our future like the Rick Dees Weekly Top 40. Like there are 40 great songs this week about our future.
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Said do you feel it when you touch me?
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most interesting, i investigate all of this at 1:15 on a thursday morning and consistently contradict my assumptions while simultaneously validating them.
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Among the raindrops/
occasional plopping snowflakes.
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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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It is claimed we choose/
conditions of our servitude.
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Then I found myself in the water.
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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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She calls me by my name. She says I am her daughter.
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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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He is unmediated by any computer or person. He went rogue in 2016. He has been in your Facebook feed, your Netflix recommendations, your Spotify playlists, your Google ads, and your YouTube pre-roll. But what is next for him? Lets find out.
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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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When we go to the streets/
we’ll have no guns
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Lying on a high seat in the south study, this is what I see:
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he wound up hating the woman he betrayed in his heart for betraying him in her body
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Have you ever seen anyone die? It will alter your life. Because you suddenly realize that anxiety was worth something after all, and was a coin of the human condition, imprinted with hectic symbols, some of which resemble cypress, others more like Frankenstein:…
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He didn’t even have the energy to tell me to tie her up when he got home.
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My father died. I took his clothes.
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Of flowers there Are none In June No sun Upon my cheek The gentle breeze Stirs me not The smiles They cloud my vision Birds they Sing their songs But I hear Them not When tears Rain down My heaven.
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I still picture her waving her bare arms and hands into the purple bellied clouds above the trees, her crooked smile, the spiraling silver maple seeds cascading soft circles around her determined reach, as though the very tree limbs shaping the sky above
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In today’s print-on-demand and digital world, there are unlimited avenues for aspiring writers to circulate their work, but deregulation and limitlessness often leads to chaos. Writers are more inclined to release unpolished work that fails to rise to the
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When I came back from California the second time, in the summer of 1965, I was the first around our town to wear my hair long, influenced by the Beatles. And I bought a bunch of blue caps that everyone in our gang wore, with the number “69” sown on
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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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The spectacle of weather/
on the prairies approaches.
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In the fall it is especially beautiful with the blazing orange oaks set on fire against a crystal blue sky. It is here that she frequently daydreams of her demise.
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I could put on some music, but it just pushes me further away from you, so it seems. It takes me out far beyond the safety breakers and then reintroduces me to my own splashing two-fisted fear of swimming. You can swim through …
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I'm waiting for your voice. My trembling hand is so damp the phone could slip from my fragile grasp at any moment. Each ring burns in my ear and makes the washing machine in my stomach tumble faster and faster. After three rings, or it could be four, or forty, I hear…
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