1545 3 2
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So do you read my writing?I text youI need to know whatyou like betterThe bloodor the gutsThat's what it is.You see Iput it out therefor you.That's not what it saysbut I know the truth.Am I smart enoughgood enoughdo you think it's crapbecause anyone can like it…
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154544
|
On a street-lit night in Jeddah.
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154532
|
My pain is a black pearl hidden in a clean shell.
|
154598
|
6. to register for the draft
|
154530
|
Maybe it might be best to, you know, have less frequent meetings.
|
1545179
|
let’s press our words into the clay/
in language so completely dead/
we have to re-imagine it.
|
154522
|
|
154576
|
in a willow garden lush shade/drapes dark the young woman's small house/with the lone window, the white door . . .
|
154588
|
I attended the burial of our affair when I found the notebook-maybe it should be called her diary-she had foolishly forgotten, leaving it on the deck of my beach house where she stayed while I was on that short trip to Chicago and I was numbed at first, unsure how to…
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154500
|
Cooking dinner for one in a city that isn’t my home. A beautiful city that I’m slowly losing interest in, just as I become a local. In a tiny apartment set in the most realistic part of town, I’ve turned the music up loud to drown out my thoughts.
|
154444
|
|
1544108
|
One day, my feet and hands got into an argument. My feet argued that they were superior because they were not only the foundation of my body, but the cause of its mobility. They were modest in size, yet supported and transported an entire body that towered over them.…
|
154400
|
A dark and mysterious account of an ancient traveler seeking arcane literature, and the miserable results to him after he receives what he sought.
|
154400
|
He then spent his walk home to his single apartment spitting up various textures of red, combinations of cherry and blood mostly.
|
154486
|
At some point we all reach the end point/
of something. Something important/
if only to our fragile self esteem.
|
154474
|
The marble, it's just there.
I can't explain
how it got there
(or when),
all I know
is that everything
is in that marble.
By "everything,"
I mean every
thing. Your breakfast?
It's there.
|
154400
|
Holding a bouquet of flowers wrapped in a tissue in one hand, a round shape that balances the round yellow burst of light that is her dress. While the flesh of her chest bulges forward and she balances as though in a holding pattern in flight.
|
154442
|
In the summer of 1963 I went to Philadelphia to study with a member of the Philadelphia Orchestra.
|
154486
|
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…
|
154487
|
Downtown Milwaukee My feet are exposed, never been out in public even out here— …
|
154497
|
If they are all speaking medicine & I / start speaking French - how / rude am I? Would they understand then / what it is to be entirely left out / of the conversation, unseen?
|
15441511
|
When Lois finally found him down there, Johnny was wedged between a large rock and the trunk of an old, long since fallen, cottonwood tree. She said as she got to him, she heard his gurgling breath, fighting fiercely to stay alive. When she saw the deep, gathering, red…
|
154444
|
"...,beautiful, yet neutral, an oversimplistic reading of the people we meet."
|
154480
|
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.
|
154311
|
Every day, I write myself further away
From the East
Where we began
|
154321
|
Just an abnormal visit to the post office.
|
154300
|
Martin met Siena in the elevator, carrying two brown bags of groceries. She asked him to press the button for floor eight. As they rose, Martin fixed his eyes on the display as it changed numbers: G, 2, 3… and so on.
|
154331
|
|
154321
|
I want the luxury of hearing other people who disagree with me tell me why I’m an asshole!
|
154386
|
It was your present world that seemed more than mad to me. Your polished stiff brown shoes that always squeaked like mice, while the latest rude Bombers bubbled up in their comfortable Dart-board garages like apple pies…
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