1534 11 7
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153443
|
"You're no good at sex, no good at drugs and, god knows, no good at rock and roll."
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1534105
|
I like it best when I wake up
And the wild rain of dreaming ends.
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153475
|
I'm hearing a noise. I can't see it. It's hiding and seems to be coming from the other side of the creek. With boots on I slowly wade across. The water makes its light lapping sounds. Reaching the bank, I search for the noise. It must have a face, suntanned and warm, that I…
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153455
|
I'm not sure whetherI drink to numbthe pain or toactually feelsomething.
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153350
|
You are Day I am Night Let us Meet In the Afternoon And…
|
153344
|
I gave you two daughters.
I gave you four grandchildren.
I'm done.
|
1533158
|
Go diddle in the sand//
to save some other sinner/
a death of stones.
|
15331711
|
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.
|
1533115
|
The smell of garlic, soy, and onions/
exhausted from Skillman Wok/
perfumes December air.
|
153354
|
. . . how a body calls
in the dark. . .
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153300
|
He then spent his walk home to his single apartment spitting up various textures of red, combinations of cherry and blood mostly.
|
153331
|
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.
|
153310
|
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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153321
|
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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153354
|
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.
|
153386
|
and, once in a rare while,/
actual pearls.
|
153352
|
If there was another way to describe emptiness, I'd word the endlessness of the sky, of the ocean at low tide.
|
153365
|
He doesn't call, not even on her birthday. She doesn't mention it or complain. She knows she doesn't have it as bad as some, even in this privileged Triangle of North Carolina. She is white and pretty and belongs to what's left of the middle…
|
153396
|
"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…
|
153351
|
There was no provision for keeping the post on the door, but I did not have the fingernails to pry it off.
|
153399
|
It’s layer VII we adore/
and mourn
|
153375
|
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,…
|
153321
|
I hope you enjoyed the celebration last night. Good things always come to you. I thought your family would never go home. I didn't get to sleep this morning until 2:59, although I had set my alarm to 6:10. I didn't want you to miss your plane. At daybreak,…
|
153380
|
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.
|
153333
|
The leaves/
seek reunion with the ground//
and leave the oak tree naked/
in December’s cold.
|
153390
|
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.
|
153200
|
This was the anniversary of the chairs. He would celebrate tonight for the chairs, and the chairs would welcome him.
|
153283
|
After oh so many hours
the eyes could only close
only to view a Ritz cracker
marching on a nose
|
1532103
|
My sixth grade teacher used to tell us all the time about how being poor is nowhere near the same as living in poverty.
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