1536 14 13
|
Frenchie hustled waffle irons.
|
153643
|
"You're no good at sex, no good at drugs and, god knows, no good at rock and roll."
|
153621
|
He didn’t even have the energy to tell me to tie her up when he got home.
|
153690
|
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.
|
153510
|
In the United States of America children everywhere are waiting for summer vacation. To a child in the United States, there is summer vacation and then there is everything else. Summer vacation is freedom. The united states was built on the foundation that one day we will…
|
153550
|
You are Day I am Night Let us Meet In the Afternoon And…
|
153520
|
Ruth carries always a small bottle of nitroglycerin; and tissues, wads of tissues; two Tums (for calcium, she tells me)...
|
153552
|
Method of divination. Open a book to any section. Drop your hand onto the page. Read that there is an exorcism happening in the other room.
|
153561
|
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,…
|
153500
|
This was the anniversary of the chairs. He would celebrate tonight for the chairs, and the chairs would welcome him.
|
153521
|
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…
|
153500
|
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.
|
153554
|
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.
|
153564
|
you tell
a stranger's story...
|
153586
|
and, once in a rare while,/
actual pearls.
|
153599
|
It’s layer VII we adore/
and mourn
|
1535117
|
|
1535105
|
I like it best when I wake up
And the wild rain of dreaming ends.
|
153575
|
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…
|
153581
|
Sorry, I think I was jotting and not writing. I see a dropped article that would clarify my interest. I purposely didn't describe my alcohol use. There, I just did.
|
153586
|
What the spaces say//
can be heard in the short/
and longer silences
|
1534158
|
Go diddle in the sand//
to save some other sinner/
a death of stones.
|
153482
|
She wore no bra. As she jammed the truck into park and pushed against the heavy door, he saw the points of her nipples against her dress. Ice filled his belly, the most beautiful pink-colored ice.
|
15341711
|
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.
|
1534117
|
Names are forbidden here. So is apology.
|
1534115
|
The smell of garlic, soy, and onions/
exhausted from Skillman Wok/
perfumes December air.
|
153400
|
He then spent his walk home to his single apartment spitting up various textures of red, combinations of cherry and blood mostly.
|
153434
|
She put the Necco wafer on Sally's tongue."You can't be the priest, Emma" Sally said nearly choking on the hard, chalky disk."Then why you on yaw knees stupid?""You said to be prayin' and like in church, but you can't be doin' priest stuff. That's for…
|
153443
|
Ey’, it’s where I followed him down
|
153421
|
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…
|
