1470 9 7
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This is the Minuteman tine/
of the three-tined fork//
we can stick into the modern world/
when it’s done-- a MAD triad.
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147063
|
Day by day people went missing. Reports of the ads being answered with a robocall solution to their problems were at first unconfirmed. Yesterday my best friend told me his emotional distress call was going to be channeled into a free trip to what he call
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1470109
|
He looks outside, sees everything disappearing like crumbing cookies into what appears to be a giant mouth.
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147095
|
He kept
saying how my old scars
excited him to new truths
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147085
|
Perhaps my grandparents, Fred and Lela, when they were growing up....
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147022
|
A single woman should regard every train ride as an opportunity, I once read in one of those “How to Find A Boyfriend” books. “When boarding the train, don't take the first available seat,“ the author advised. “Walk through all the cars…
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147088
|
My stories are ramshackle; they lurch along in old sweaters with holes and missing buttons, drinking from mismatched cups and saucers.
|
147011
|
When people talk about the end moments when one's life flashes before his or her eyes, they often refer to time as slowing down. I can attest to this phenomenon during my final moments, before the collision: the song playing on the radio, the squeal of tires and flash of…
|
147010
|
"If you don't like it then leave!" Sally screamed.
|
147000
|
We're at the Park Diner. My dad Tommie is sitting across from me. He looks haggard, tired. His skin is pasty and washed-out. He's not talking, so I'm not talking either, but it doesn't matter because it's hanging there between us.Cancer.Motherfucker.“Don't look so…
|
147044
|
"...,beautiful, yet neutral, an oversimplistic reading of the people we meet."
|
147031
|
She's an obese woman whose clothes don't fit: shirts that ride up too high her belly hanging out her pants suctioned to her strangely pegged legs. Her ballooned cheeks are always chapped pink her lips little slivers peeled back over small beige teeth like…
|
1470107
|
There were too many laws but not enough of the kinds she wanted. She wished for the right to go shopping. Then taste rather than disposable income or access to finance could distinguish people.
|
147056
|
beckoning with citrus streaks blue cobbled streets/and stuccos lit with gold lamps guide strollers here/to Place du Forum in Arles and this café . . .
|
146921
|
Despite the newly bright bricks and the working clock, Cassie couldn't help but take a deep breath before entering King Street Station. She had always tried to hold her breath when her family cut through it on the way to Mariners games but had never succeeded, not…
|
146954
|
In the words of that great philosopher Hunter S. Thompson, "When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro."
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146942
|
A walled city doesn’t let you out any more easily that it has let you in earlier.
|
146922
|
'Like poems,’ I said
she paused and nodded
her black mop.
|
146932
|
My pain is a black pearl hidden in a clean shell.
|
146922
|
It's one of the most difficult problems of aesthetic philosophy: What do we mean when we say that a song is sad? None of the big names--Aristotle, Kant, Croce–Benedetto, not Jim–come close to answering it.
|
146942
|
Feeding you a taste of croissant
|
146944
|
From the rumple of pre-dawn Queens, sure South on 95, to almost Savannah by dark; still cold, but we’re full of what’s coming:
|
146951
|
A tissue, she was saying - hand me a tissue. Her seat belt was locked and she was rocking back and forth in it cinching wrinkles into her favorite blue silk blouse. I can't remember her wearing anything else. Her hands were gesturing - on and on- an endless loop…
|
1469139
|
Those who don’t die, desire, descend. No song aloft arises from my irk. The seeing chieftain, not of sea, nor sand, nor boat, I till nightfall stammer alive, dig boneless trenches against tiding dregs and lathe, hunt, wallow, plow the hours, call in awei
|
146921
|
Be aware the dog is king, radiant, emitting many beams, renewed by and restored by his fullness, his satiety. In many ways underlying all our hearts and minds, out of our notorious youth, ever the flower of our flesh on fire like a little reed next to the dried…
|
146900
|
I'm getting self-righteous here, Dear Reader . . . [hey! wait a second! this is my diary! what are you doing, looking at it, dude! Hit the road! Scram! Vamoose!]
|
146921
|
"You don't need the gun," Dean said. "Bring me a bottle of peroxide and some duct tape."
|
146942
|
Q:What made you want to be a person who rides a train?
A:As soon as I learned there was such a thing, I wanted to be one.
|
1469105
|
If I could say only one thing more to Tony who died a month ago, there is one thing I could find to say
|
146821
|
Oh sweet, sweet morning light
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