1480 10 5
|
Cultivate your vaginal tears
at the gates of Thigh and Holy.
|
148000
|
We trade broken phrases of English, Arabic...
|
148021
|
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."
|
148022
|
If she was still breathing, Tom promised himself he would let her live, but right then his shoulder ached and his right hand was throbbing.
|
148041
|
I'm in the boardroom, downtown in San Francisco. I don't even remember showing up for work today. I hope they fire me, just like they fired Bill. Well not exactly like that, that was awful. He was caught downloading a phenomenal amount of…
|
148033
|
I reach out and grab a can of soup with each hand and spin them around to dive into this much-heralded sodium situation. It's a landslide. I almost smile as I put low sodium back and continue to hold tightly onto regular.
|
148086
|
Removing the deeply embedded jack-blade frommy naked side, like any slicked-upsplinter, was just a bit jarring on the first bite, on first try, I must admit. I freelydo so now to your frozen-over faces. You made your…
|
1480116
|
Everything is bound to change like / a damsel to the tracks.
|
148090
|
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.
|
148022
|
|
147944
|
The young boy woke to the sound of laughter. He blinked himself out of deep sleep and allowed…
|
1479146
|
So many dreams I need to visit, though
|
1479128
|
in White Heat
there’s a character
who reads lips
using a mirror to see
the mouths of prisoners
in other cells
that’s how I feel
when I talk
with you
|
147942
|
The rain is filling up my shoes,
I can’t see
through my glasses,
Rain all inside me.
|
147910
|
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.
|
147973
|
I experience a presence when walking through the forest . . .
|
147999
|
It’s layer VII we adore/
and mourn
|
1479117
|
|
147966
|
Rises monstrous out of the Baltoro GlacierPlaying poker with oxygen levelsPlays leap frog with embolisms.Malice and vanity join forces somurder guns the air even beforethe Death Zone. Down suits, bold and cockyregisters the climber's ambitions. The Serac , a…
|
147942
|
In the mode of Swinburne's ‘Dolores':For the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster- A study of the notion of “Intelligent Design” Since the universe came into dawning, If e'er this bright universe did, Men ought to know better in…
|
147976
|
in a willow garden lush shade/drapes dark the young woman's small house/with the lone window, the white door . . .
|
147981
|
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.
|
147900
|
If Don’s story was one of faith carrying someone through his trials, the story of Randy Slafter is another. It was faith that brought him and his family to Johnstown 15 years ago. The wings of faith protected him from the dark angels of grief and tragedy
|
147944
|
Sometimes my poems escape. They crawl out through my Wi-Fi connection, I suspect.
|
147973
|
At last, we learn if Blow has the cojones to fight.
|
147830
|
Roanne, just out of jail, went to cop. That is, she went to beg fat little Freddy the dopeman to front her once more. She'd have to fuck Freddy, of course, but, well, maybe he'd wait until after this time. Likely not…
|
147800
|
When I get my legs pumping, I’ll pop a spoke if I'm not careful. Massive fucking energy! And all that fat I was talking about? I don’t even really have that much of it, any of it really. My body fat is like one percent, which the doctors tell me isn’t
|
147854
|
. . . how a body calls
in the dark. . .
|
147821
|
But behind the shops (and the many pubs), at the back of the narrow cottage fronts which line the wynds are secret courtyards, surprising gardens and more light than ever imagined.
|
1478179
|
let’s press our words into the clay/
in language so completely dead/
we have to re-imagine it.
|
