1471 5 2
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If there was another way to describe emptiness, I'd word the endlessness of the sky, of the ocean at low tide.
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147102
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We’d told her that Kasey waitressed. We talked about it a lot, trying to figure something out. I wanted to be honest with her. Kasey said she was too young to understand. I said that was why honesty wouldn’t hurt anything. Kasey said what about later.
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147183
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goes on and on. Like it's a sad mad season on Mars, well it isn't, is it? Sometimes I have towonder whatever happenedto us, to make us forget how well we already know how tosing as good as any larks do? I have never wantedto drown, but I've…
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147153
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No girl hits hard enough.
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147100
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When his mother was all dressed up on New Year’s Eve, and his father, even thought they had tickets for the dance, announced to her he wasn’t going to go, Johnny had gone into his room, put on a white shirt, a dark suit, his dress shoes, and a clip-o
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147173
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Ginny, the mother, was a lark in every respect of the word. Born and raised in central California farm country, to a family of lower middle class means, educated in public schools in whose bathroom stalls she was deflowered as unceremoniously as a pig ta
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147111
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Pen or sword? Pick one/choose your battles carefully/for the paths oppose
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147111
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- Never in pain and distance -
Frown on these moments,
With bitterness and vain
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147101
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Laurel's new bike is powder blue, with silver tassels on the handle bars. Jenny's mouth actually waters at the sight of it, as though it were a fresh loaf of bread or a perfect, juicy orange. “You can ride it if you want,” Laurel…
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1470109
|
My student assistant was a comely young woman. A freckle faced blonde. She was from Ohio.
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147030
|
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…
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1470115
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The smell of garlic, soy, and onions/
exhausted from Skillman Wok/
perfumes December air.
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147032
|
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147032
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Being an uncredited bonus composition, written in the sublimest access of divine afflatus this poet believes his lyric verse has ever known. “In olden times, dark was not counted fair”: Those were the words, I think, of some old poet. …
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147021
|
they flew down the slopes
with her holding on
for all she was worth
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14701310
|
This time the bag's bigger/than the boy and the door.
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147076
|
in a willow garden lush shade/drapes dark the young woman's small house/with the lone window, the white door . . .
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147000
|
“Got a big one boy! He's movin' real fast! Don't think he has had time to eat the bait just yet, so we need to play him out. Let the hook set. Don't want to loose him! Get the net ready!”
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147022
|
what was she like you ask? smarter than me for instance she could type alot faster. and she didn’t worry constantly about being poor or having a family looking over her shoulder. maybe that’s what she did with boys. 17 years later and she is in my bed
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147086
|
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…
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147011
|
My mother gave her all to convince him to be a politician. My sister begged on bleeding knees for him to give her head. I just needed somebody to help me find things.
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147090
|
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.
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146964
|
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.
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1469116
|
Jane knew what to do
when she heard murmurs in the ceiling,
knew what to do when she struck out on the moor.
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146944
|
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146920
|
The story of a second, a stone, and an android -- all curiously interrelated and all, coincidentally, named Gretchen
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146952
|
At 11 pm, it is 87 degrees and I sit in front of the air conditioner, eating oatmeal. The oats aren't soft enough, but it is sugary and fills me. Outside, the city hovers at the edge of a brown out, people sweating hopelessly inside small boxes. In Utah, it was cold…
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146910
|
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.
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146954
|
. . . how a body calls
in the dark. . .
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146922
|
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.
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