1491 7 3
|
Shit, I guess I'm gonna hafta
|
149143
|
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…
|
149121
|
His touch, even now, seemed to set off tremors inside her.
|
149100
|
Tomiko did not feel lost. Although she struggled to understand what was going on around her, she knew where she wanted to go.
|
1491126
|
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…
|
149021
|
Oh sweet, sweet morning light
|
149021
|
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…
|
149021
|
One can’t predict the final cadence of one’s life.
|
149044
|
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?
|
149011
|
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…
|
149097
|
This is the Minuteman tine/
of the three-tined fork//
we can stick into the modern world/
when it’s done-- a MAD triad.
|
149065
|
His shirts he hangs on the back of the chair, one on top the other so they won't wrinkle.
|
149063
|
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.
|
149032
|
The Intrepid Explorer recounts his travels for the benefit of subscribers to the Magazine of the Museum of Everything
|
149011
|
“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 ...
|
14901410
|
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.
|
149011
|
an elongating boy with butter-yellow flecks in his eyes, and skin patched like a tabby.
|
149000
|
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…
|
149097
|
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?
|
149043
|
In the end nothing could bring him back because I tried. All those weeks and months, yet all I have left are the tears and memories. He said when he asked the final questions to those in charge he was confused.
|
149087
|
The rat had been informed, assured, cajoled in order to gain his assent—duly lied to, in other words, by the researchers with not one tear of remorse, with no smudge or smear of conscience . . .
|
148920
|
"I see flashing bright bacteria floating in the air," he replied, not bothering to think about the words. "I see puffs of smoke issuing from inappropriate objects. Fingertips. Baby carrots. Furniture... Oh, Christ," he seethed, arching again. "Get me some
|
148954
|
The silver urn of ashes inscribed
with his unknown name.
|
1489108
|
When you need a vacation...from everything.
|
148983
|
You have the right to be happy
|
14891510
|
The mirror can never talk back/
unless corrupted creases of the brain/
and its recombinant physical maladies//
elect to answer...
|
148900
|
“Is that an erect annual plant in your codpiece, Mr. Flax, or are you just glad to see me?”
|
148900
|
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.
|
148951
|
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…
|
1489910
|
Fine gradations of the fractional/
fissure the eggshell whole we crave
|
