1492 10 5
|
and, under foot,//
dark caves waiting/
with their unseen pigments/
adorning forgotten walls.
|
149265
|
His shirts he hangs on the back of the chair, one on top the other so they won't wrinkle.
|
149263
|
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.
|
149222
|
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.
|
149286
|
I am falling, falling out of my body,
falling like midnight onto mice.
|
149211
|
“And what kind of man would prefer all these dusty old books to my physical form? Who would memorize archaic incantations, when he could be whispering in my ear? Why search for the ancient splendors of metaphor, when one could be searching for the ...
|
149266
|
Not today. Even when the Isar rolls so cool and deep and I could wade and wade 'til sleep. Not today. When I have the tablets in a drawer in a box winking chalkily at me. Not today. When the church tower soars and it's bells toll out a seductive beat …
|
149211
|
an elongating boy with butter-yellow flecks in his eyes, and skin patched like a tabby.
|
149232
|
“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
|
149273
|
Shit, I guess I'm gonna hafta
|
149243
|
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…
|
149200
|
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…
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149211
|
Suddenly the producer, Irving, tosses a new idea into the discussion, an idea for a possible film. Then the writer, Herbert, does the talking. He performs, in fact, puts on a one-man show. The idea! The idea! It's…
|
149297
|
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?
|
149200
|
Tomiko did not feel lost. Although she struggled to understand what was going on around her, she knew where she wanted to go.
|
1492126
|
It comes to me at night, the monster. I don't even realize it's in the room until I hear it breathing behind me. It reaches out its hands and places them on my shoulders. Its fingers are furry and soft, but strong. They grasp the muscles on either side of my neck, and I…
|
149121
|
Oh sweet, sweet morning light
|
149154
|
The silver urn of ashes inscribed
with his unknown name.
|
149144
|
Robert Frost told me that life goes on, but that’s just not good enough for me and for God’s sake it shouldn’t be good enough for you either, should it?
|
149120
|
A rock group named Stuck Gas Pedal. Another named Tweezer. A group of young punk-rockers wearing neckerchiefs named Mein Kampfire. But wait, there’s more.
A song called “We Were Being Facetious,” co-written by them all.
Lost Flyswatter. That
|
149111
|
There's something about the way he touches me every time that makes my heart skip a beat and pushes the air from my throat. I shiver under his hot breath while he whispers softly and pulls himself closer, letting his fingers glide…
|
149197
|
This is the Minuteman tine/
of the three-tined fork//
we can stick into the modern world/
when it’s done-- a MAD triad.
|
149122
|
They watch her, scald her skin with hot eyes whose stares run up and down her body like lice.
|
149132
|
Eighteen-year-old Svetlana Kabalevsky was now the widow of the poet Dmetri Kabalevsky, soon to be another widow-whore on the Moscow highway.
|
149100
|
“Is that an erect annual plant in your codpiece, Mr. Flax, or are you just glad to see me?”
|
149151
|
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…
|
1491910
|
Fine gradations of the fractional/
fissure the eggshell whole we crave
|
149188
|
My stories are ramshackle; they lurch along in old sweaters with holes and missing buttons, drinking from mismatched cups and saucers.
|
14911410
|
Sitting together at Starbucks, we composed a long love letter which we've been mailing back and forth to each other, signing our name upon each receipt and returning it for the last nine months and it has grown to eighty seven pages, barely fitting in a shoe box.
|
149100
|
The first apartment Troy and Lynn lived in was managed by an alcoholic former army officer, who lived in the complex with his wife and teenage daughter. He was a lush who didn't do much in the way of management. Lynn had barely noticed him before Troy moved in with her.…
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