1513 2 2
|
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.
|
151311
|
I am only ever
What you seem to be
Without the leverage
Of sweet reality
|
151322
|
The Inauguration Day Windstorm had blown out half the downtown lights to celebrate its twenty-first birthday. Two old friends flecked with gray snow and white hair sat on the boulders that kept the Sound from sweeping away Myrtle Edwards Park. Look at all the…
|
151321
|
I stared at these meteor impacts, feeling far away, a lone sentient cloud admiring the scoured yet wondrous earth-of-this-girl below me, the lean slope of her side, the soft dip of her neck, the sharp edge of her cheekbone, the monarch wing of her eyelash
|
1513139
|
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
|
151321
|
He and she are fucking while I watch. She's moaning deep desire and he's pounding flesh into flesh. I'm fully clothed, eyes attune to their fornication, studying. He comes inside of her; their bodies stiffen and then wriggle against one another. …
|
151301
|
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…
|
151342
|
Better not hand me that iPhone. I'll look up every damned thing in it.
|
151221
|
Oh sweet, sweet morning light
|
151276
|
Ross, I've been a ghost hunter for almost 10 years now and this is a place I said I WOULD NEVER NEVER EVER go to!
|
15121510
|
The mirror can never talk back/
unless corrupted creases of the brain/
and its recombinant physical maladies//
elect to answer...
|
151278
|
|
1512105
|
and, under foot,//
dark caves waiting/
with their unseen pigments/
adorning forgotten walls.
|
151265
|
His shirts he hangs on the back of the chair, one on top the other so they won't wrinkle.
|
151242
|
Feeding you a taste of croissant
|
151200
|
I'd had a long, hard fall from the pinnacle of the profession. I made the mistake of accepting a mouse pad, coffee mug and a fleece pullover with the logo of Upchux, an anti-reflux drug, on the left breast where you'd get heartburn.
|
151286
|
I am falling, falling out of my body,
falling like midnight onto mice.
|
151254
|
Quarts of philosophy may be transacted by semantic obstetrics.
|
151210
|
It all started a long time ago. September 1, 1939, Hitler invaded Poland. His army was moving fast. We lived not far from the city of Krakow. On the third day of invasion a lot of men (civilian) walked through our city, running away from the German Army.
|
15122011
|
There was a form to it, not reproduction. I wanted to write Moby Dick without a man in it. [I wanted to write Moby Dick with only a woman in it.] But I didn't do it. It's like a seven-year diary, and it did happen. I might write it as memory then.
|
151266
|
(no one need fear timidity in our tastes― /
we like trying new things, no matter our hastes!)
|
151132
|
I am not responsible for any nightmares this piece may cause for all you mice lovers!
|
151194
|
The poet could not speak of himself
but only of the gradations leading toward
him and away. ~ Mark Strand
|
151151
|
“There are so few uses for Crisco, that to keep it in the house seems an unnecessary temptation,” said my health teacher.
|
151112
|
indelicate, as everything arrives at once.
|
151195
|
I never meant to shipwreck you,
I didn't even know I was singing out loud.
I just stood on my rock a little too boldly,
and hummed a tune you wanted to hear.
|
1511157
|
but most times/
it’s just improvisation//
with phrases of unknown origin/
swirling in my head
|
1511107
|
“What do you want for Father's Day?” she asks. “Sex,” he says, his mouth curling at the corners, “and a bottle of Shiraz.” …
|
1511910
|
Fine gradations of the fractional/
fissure the eggshell whole we crave
|
151122
|
I may as well have been sleepwalking. Either way, I had no opportunity to admire the moonlight flooding into the long corridors, illuminating the stag heads and painted cheeks of long-dead ancestors.
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