1377 4 3
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"...she became aware of
her cold saliva
dripping slowly over her bare
arm muscle,..."
|
137700
|
Robbie took me out to Fox River on his father's ski boat one day, as he often did — but this time it was my eighteenth birthday. That was when he opened up his robe and showed me all there was to show of himself, begging me to make love to him, saying h
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137732
|
square mannequin-wives who can’t look in their eyes
|
137764
|
Beware of shouting Dress Barn, Dress Barn! when having an orgasm
And don’t tell him you were seeing Starbucks when you came
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137711
|
They run nonstop for weeks. Between traffic stalled cars. Down forgotten subways tunnels drilled long ago in the cold earth. Past burning sugarcane fields.
|
137710
|
So into the woods we went, hoping to open a portal into the netherworld of make believe. I had a feeling we would see nothing, but she believed in me. At the very least I would spend a few very nice days backpacking in the wilderness.
|
137711
|
I hand one of them the octopus and run out of the room.
|
137753
|
only thoughts lost in lonely trails of red
|
137784
|
Years ago when the smart of it was as nippy as this one.
|
137735
|
Does God feel the same way /
whenever you practice your indifference toward me
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13771410
|
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137700
|
A woman confronts her suspicions about her husband's fidelity.
|
137664
|
The Traignarry Light Preservation Society meets monthly, and welcomes visitors.
|
137650
|
I noticed his pistol before his pissbag and I knew then that failure not only had a face but a balding head, too
|
137644
|
There are moments in life where it's like you're driving late at night and you should be on your way home but really you're just rolling along aimlessly through the city streets when suddenly you turn a corner and realize the road is open and empty for miles to come, a…
|
137642
|
Girolamo Dente was nodding off in his studio at Découvrir Art when he heard the alarm.
|
137600
|
[WE'LL LET *YOU* BE THE JUDGE!]
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137650
|
An expanse of trees, grass, scrub, heathers, sky, space. A grey horse, the type her gran would have placed a bet on, approaches. "Don't like flies?" he asks. He holds her gaze, walks closer. Seventeen black flies crawl over the right side of his head. "What…
|
137620
|
If you had gotten pregnant our last time, in 1967 (when you lied and told me “I guess I’m finally over you,”) then our son could have been that man you saw with the drooping moustache and his coattails flying in the lobby of the building in Louisville,
|
137623
|
I will admit it. // I cannot write poetry / to save my life—
|
137600
|
I made a man of men. He made a man of me, the way all men are finished, in tragedy and sorrow. Together, we make a story, for other men, brothers and sisters.
|
137655
|
My businessman does as his nature allows him. He is so cute. All day long he makes deals. He is on his phone most of the time. He raises his voice. “Fuck those fuckers, just do it,” is what he says. My businessman hedges risk on his investments by keeping…
|
137610
|
As the 5 train gained momentum away from Fulton Street, Helen took her seat with the alertness and suspicion of someone who had spent the day negotiating prices with dirty fishmongers.
|
137611
|
It was a mildly windy day of the working week in the financial district of the city—the bright morning sun was out—when a security guard was called to the fifteenth floor to deal with a disruption.
“This way.”
Someone pointed to a desk. At the desk
|
1376119
|
I lay on a table in a cold room in one of those little blue gowns that open in back.
|
137622
|
a name is what you are, and a name is a wall between. one day let me be earth, so you may be allowed to say you love me. for now i am separate. i'm afraid that's how i will die, and …
|
137642
|
It was Wednesday, the papers had a food section that day, so the gap-toothed news hawker at the mouth of Winter Street would yell out “Foozection! Foozection!”
|
137665
|
I heard them praying to some god
none of us had ever heard of.
I'm glad I went to the funeral
and still have the yellow rose that I
did not throw into his grave.
At some point
you have to stop nibbling
from the moldy cake.
|
137632
|
In punch drunk waiting rooms... On election routes
|
137600
|
He stood sopping in front of the mirror, dripping onto the limp puddle of clothing on the floor. He needed a haircut. He needed a shave. He needed to get rid of the two-fucking-inch white hair inside the helix of his right ear. He plucked it—and all the h
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