1508 2 1
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‘what’s the hassle kiddo, chopping meat is fun, come here and listen to the music of the chop, the sound of steel ripping through air, slicing through flesh and hitting wood, poetry I say’.
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150811
|
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!”
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150832
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150872
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This is what it is to feel yourself forget.
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150853
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God’s hearing aid is missing
And apparently needs an enormous battery
But no one has the
heart to tell Him
because who wants to be
shouting at God?
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150800
|
Mayumi faced forward, channeled her Mana, and gathered a small pocket of air under hand. Soon the voice returned, rattling her mind.
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150821
|
She’s always had one foot on a pedestal and the other in a gutter.
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150853
|
Before the railroad tracks are blown off by the wind, the wall tiles morph to trace 34th Streetwhile a silver balloon emerges from the end of the tunnel. A child’s hand reaches out for the gleam and she, the woman in a black-dress with a mandarin collar,
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150880
|
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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150832
|
...the relatives didn't seem nearly as fucked up as she thought they would be considering...
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150844
|
Sometimes my poems escape. They crawl out through my Wi-Fi connection, I suspect.
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150820
|
He draped the sheet over her body. Blood spotted the fabric, rose petals on snow.He left the pistol, but pocketed the first edition she'd signed. Part of his fee.In the park, he ditched the glasses, fake mustache, and anorak before making the call.The publisher called an…
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150853
|
I'm gonna write about this after...It'll either be a tale of pain or pleasure hopefully the latterI don't understand how this workswhy sometimes I want to hide from myself other times I can just give in, fully,and everything isohsoheightenedI want it to be beautifuland…
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150754
|
“We could dooble date,” he said.
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150721
|
Anatoly Gringovitch sat in the police car returning him to the Opera House.
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150796
|
A break from bleak world history and events...
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150741
|
No matter how bad his hair turned out or how avocado shaped one of those miscreants could make his head look, he would remain silent.
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150752
|
Have you ever seen a body of words give birth to a paragraph? I won't lie. It's a little gross. But quite moving. First there is the biology of reproduction. A blackbird living in an electric guitar, for instance, and its inexplicable urge to mate with an elephant.…
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15071711
|
Neither of us thought of real winning. We set about brilliant losing, dark angel forms of luck and greed, the desire, the craving, the need to lose so strenuous that one wins; we tied at thirteen.
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150721
|
She heard the quick footsteps and knew where they were headed. Running down the hall she knew she “only had 1 hour left and there was no time to waste”.
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150731
|
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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150700
|
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.
|
150700
|
Fat Patty sniffs the delicate waft of peat and sidles over, proffering a grope in exchange for a few wet-lipped swigs. Hell yes.
|
150754
|
I find myself in an unfamiliar restaurant, its cuisine an uncomfortable pastiche of Croatian, Burmese, Jamaican and leftovers of long ago Sunday dinners in a small New England town.
|
150721
|
He stood in front of her. They stood eye to eye. "You aren't supposed to look me in the eye. If I were anyone else you would be smacked down on the ground right now. Treat me as you would a lover, your master."
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15071817
|
The courts had scheduled the date long ago but the time, an hour always left to the warden, had yet to be decided.
|
150786
|
and, once in a rare while,/
actual pearls.
|
1507125
|
the bodies of the poor become/
a simple logistical problem,/
disposable as any gnawed bones
|
150799
|
It’s layer VII we adore/
and mourn
|
150772
|
That streetcar named Desire, it don't hardly stop for me no more. Leastwise not while I'm awake, and I don't have to be telling no nosy aides why I make them noises in my sleep.
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