1541 2 1
|
We all thought, Birds! We all thought, Nests inside the chimney!
|
1541 13 10
|
the last, best//
analgesic--/
guaranteed
|
1541 12 8
|
His eyes are closed yet restless, as if too many thoughts loop beneath the lids.
|
1541 6 5
|
When I slip through the seams I return to the same place.
|
1541 1 1
|
Ten-year-old Bobby Akins learned that a shotgun shell struck on its brass end with a hammer can indeed take out the left eye of an eight-year-old brother observing the proceedings close by.
|
1541 2 1
|
It was a strange mood, unfamiliar, not one of her usual “I'm busy wrestling with my personal demons” type of moods. She'd been steeped in it all day and I, like a shipwrecked victim reaching out for any piece of flotsam…
|
1541 3 2
|
Billy took acid and blatzed into a 7-11, holding his dick like he hoped the store guy would think the thing was an Uzi. The guy laughed his ass off, reached under the counter, and pulled out a .38…
|
1541 3 1
|
|
1541 0 0
|
Mayumi faced forward, channeled her Mana, and gathered a small pocket of air under hand. Soon the voice returned, rattling her mind.
|
1541 4 3
|
No pain is private. How can it be?
|
1541 0 0
|
Mayumi ran. She ran fast as if her life depended on it. She never looked back. She did not care about her friends. Mayumi just wanted to escape that world more than ever, but she did not get far.
|
1541 3 2
|
I advertised in the local paper for a model.
|
1541 6 0
|
The Star Trek marathon ends, and he flips channels. An episode of Full House is on. The cheesy plot lines and attractive women (specifically, DJ Tanner in the late seasons) have become a freakish comfort.
In today's episode, the Tanners are baby sitt
|
1540 5 0
|
You are Day I am Night Let us Meet In the Afternoon And…
|
1540 3 3
|
Welcome the one and the all of you, welcome all you scraggly long haired weeds, welcome the no longer rolling stones of the new you, welcome you most beautiful little wonderfully…
|
1540 3 1
|
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.
|
1540 6 2
|
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
|
1540 6 4
|
you tell
a stranger's story...
|
1540 11 8
|
every timeyou openyour mouthan angel fallsinto a vat of whiskyshut ityou're fucking up heaven2013 - Rene
|
1540 9 6
|
"It was one kiss. No tongue. What does that even mean?" Lindley tried to see Leah as any other patient, "What do you want it to mean?" "I don't know," Leah whined, tears welling, "something, maybe. You know I hate surprises." Her sister was not another…
|
1540 1 1
|
Pen or sword? Pick one/choose your battles carefully/for the paths oppose
|
1540 9 5
|
|
1540 10 5
|
I like it best when I wake up
And the wild rain of dreaming ends.
|
1540 4 4
|
My father died. I took his clothes.
|
1540 6 6
|
Then I did the same to you, inhaling your scent which was one thing at your hairline and another at your collarbone.
|
1540 2 0
|
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…
|
1539 5 2
|
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.…
|
1539 6 1
|
HORDES OF MEN desolated, struck down, destroyed, sunken form of skin and skeleton, bare cloth matted to torso, bodycage and hipbone, face and neck darkened, bloating to black, rain the endless dream stuck fast in the stone-dead skull and blood a fine sheen over all,…
|
1539 11 7
|
Names are forbidden here. So is apology.
|
1539 1 0
|
I’m not ready for football. I’m not ready for it, but I live in a southern town that worships at its altar more devoutly than those suicidal beauties in James Wright’s great poem.
|