1494 3 2
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I don't mind being dead. It's ok. Really. I've discovered a whole new way of being based on non-being. What else can you do? I like being invisible. I like groaning and rattling chains. I used to be a writer. Still am. In fact, it might be more accurate to say that…
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149400
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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.
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149411
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we all die from the bottom up
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149411
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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…
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14941812
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the epiphany at the mast at midnight is not the same at dawn
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149400
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To a tech-savvy millennial, the definition of progress is a hands-free blowjob, and the real number is not how many men you’ve been with but how many minutes you’ve made them wait.
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149353
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Seeking your will, instead we found, somehow, a clutch of our own documents;
folded under a rubber band gone to rot,
muddy strands nestled in the creases.
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1493116
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Heel to toe, our bunions
are our ingrown medals.
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1493188
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he who laughs last is probably a dumbass fuck
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149300
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I should have never gotten involved in such a huge lie. I was a poet, for God's sake, not a novelist. I wasn't used to lying.
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149365
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Nothing good ever waits at the end of a long corridor.
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149323
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I. Europa How else to begin but with Gustave Holst's Mars--the gods waging war in romantic twilight as drumbeats and cannons blast swathes in the gloaming and glory awaits in the halls of black smoke. A visual perhaps:…
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149322
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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.
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149300
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Behind the bellicose façade lay a soft, compassionate soul. He sat within a swirl of rosy twilight hues, buoyed by the gently creeping tide. A dark wall approached and he mechanically spun and began stroking into the glassy canvas of light and ocean that lay between him…
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149389
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They can’t exterminate the poor just yet
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149342
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Years ago, I was involved in a freakish tragedy so startling and heartbreaking that it made the front page of not only my local newspaper, but “People” and “The National Enquirer.” I'm not going to tell you anything about it. This means that…
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149376
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Take 1. The Love Letter to an Unspoken Name Well we're beyond our appointed Moment now. We must step On what's left, alone, but That begs some explanation to These days that pinball between Stars and to the sad dreamers…
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149394
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I’m not / going to change you I /promise
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149355
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Eat blueberries every day and you'll live to be a 92 year old mogul. Really.
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149251
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“There are so few uses for Crisco, that to keep it in the house seems an unnecessary temptation,” said my health teacher.
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149263
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—You're convinced I'm crazy. I'm convinced you're incompetent.
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1492109
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He looks outside, sees everything disappearing like crumbing cookies into what appears to be a giant mouth.
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1492105
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and, under foot,//
dark caves waiting/
with their unseen pigments/
adorning forgotten walls.
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149263
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Some people are born that way, and some people do things to themselves
that keep them from talking. Like opening up a soda bottle with your mouth.
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149222
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As I fall to the ground I realize that in a few moments I will be experiencing a new kind of pain. The last pain. The last pain I will ever feel.
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149264
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"...she's been seeming like she's been dreaming while awake lately..."
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149211
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an elongating boy with butter-yellow flecks in his eyes, and skin patched like a tabby.
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149232
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“Guys, who would you rather live with.... Mom... or Dad.”
His younger siblings giggled in shock, not that they hadn’t thought about it... apparently.
"You know I'm right here..." I joked, waving at them.
“I’d rather live with mom.” the question-a
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149273
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Shit, I guess I'm gonna hafta
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149243
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Before the paint spikes Coney Island to the wind, I walk home through the strum of a shield, colder than the one he left behind. For the hour I sprawl along the sidewalk in her laugh, crater's shadows for Wonder Wheel, he is midnight sun in The Last Waltz. Where the glow…
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