1535 6 3
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—You're convinced I'm crazy. I'm convinced you're incompetent.
|
15351711
|
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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153543
|
Ey’, it’s where I followed him down
|
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.
|
153586
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and, once in a rare while,/
actual pearls.
|
153552
|
If there was another way to describe emptiness, I'd word the endlessness of the sky, of the ocean at low tide.
|
1535118
|
every timeyou openyour mouthan angel fallsinto a vat of whiskyshut ityou're fucking up heaven2013 - Rene
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153521
|
—Can you handle a threesome? said Isabella.
|
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…
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153544
|
My father died. I took his clothes.
|
153566
|
Then I did the same to you, inhaling your scent which was one thing at your hairline and another at your collarbone.
|
153542
|
He brought me flowers once, three wilted carnations I put in water, though the sight of them made me uneasy. He brought me pictures once, too, of three sisters—ten, twelve, fourteen—straddling dirt bikes. He touched my shoulder once, as I edited pictures …
|
153511
|
Come to the park and swing with me, sing with me.
|
153464
|
just before my break,/ he came on the line,/ old and slow with computers now/ but wanting a discount/ he'd been told he qualified for.
|
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.
|
153487
|
Pale like a tracing of a memory
|
1534179
|
let’s press our words into the clay/
in language so completely dead/
we have to re-imagine it.
|
153465
|
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…
|
153496
|
"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…
|
153480
|
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.
|
153454
|
when i was five or six/ we lived in an apartment/ and every sunday/ i'd lie on the carpet/ to watch squares of sunshine/ crawl across the rug/ while my mother inflicted upon us/ a centuries-long hour of television/ worse than any droning mass.
|
153420
|
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…
|
1534115
|
Blue skies greet us as we exit the forest . . .
|
1534810
|
The floor dissolves beneath us, pierced by lasered/
glare of countless eye-beams.
|
153320
|
"I see flashing bright bacteria floating in the air," he replied, not bothering to think about the words. "I see puffs of smoke issuing from inappropriate objects. Fingertips. Baby carrots. Furniture... Oh, Christ," he seethed, arching again. "Get me some
|
153344
|
|
153362
|
your light is gonna
last me
through the week
|
153340
|
Dear Patricia, You look marvelous. You seem marvelous. You've added wonder to Oprah's life and that's no small feat. But, here's the thing. I was working on this short story about a relative trying to get in touch with O, one of thousands, except, this one, well this one…
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