1108 3 1
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He pronounced the Afrikaans word with the vowel sound like the vowel in dour. It meant box, but it also meant cunt.
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110800
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They strung him up, stowed on the balcony, and beat him with sticks, and beat him with rocks, and bent his muscles, …
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110854
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hangs inverted and
begins a swirling motion,
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110861
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I am surprised that you’re not famous already. I remember sitting in your bedroom for hours just watching you while you wrote poetry. I was in awe of you, thinking you were going to be the next Dylan Thomas! Or Bob Dylan. Or Dylan Somebody! And I rememb
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110874
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And I admire//
the orchestrations of ants and honeybees/
and the persistence and adaptations/
of the cockroach.
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110832
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And so began my love affair with a thick, semisold substance. Sort of like Mary Van de Velde, the chubby girl who was my partner in my 6th grade polka troupe.
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110800
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There were echoes all around them, their shadows delirious and only existed in short spurts under the breath of the streetlights. They danced as their cigarettes leaked calligraphy across the night sky and she tried to trace it with her finger. He asked her what it said…
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110810
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Me leaving is not the confirmation of all your fears. It is not. It's because of them.
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110822
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the small break of consciousness that is my dreamswaterso much wateri can never forgive the watertoo many tears
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110700
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“A shibboleth is a test—a way to separate da wheat from da chaff that's as old as the Bible, but as new as the latest trend in men's fashions,” Gus says.
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110711
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There aren’t requirements, only expectations. I’m writing this, because, at the time it happened it seemed strange to me. People might think I’m writing because now, it makes sense, right? It doesn’t, I’ll tell you that much. I’ll also tell you what i
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110740
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I heard the basketball hitting the pavement in the park across the street, right outside our window... I heard it every day in an evenly spaced rhythm, as if it was keeping time, like a metronome on my life...
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110743
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#spotify / Elevators / Sky Burial Monologue
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110763
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I had this dream. We were living together, and we were in bed asleep when strange, enormous cats began crowding around our windows and meowing. They made awful scratching and scraping noises at the windows, trying to come in. But I couldn’t wake you up.
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110752
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i built a house in the trees
before i lived in the sky
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110740
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A group of us from work are playing cards at a friend's house, so when my brother Jimmy calls, I take my phone into the other room. I already know what it's about, really the only reason he ever calls these days.“Look, I hate to ask,” he begins, the way he…
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110721
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Gotta ask myself what I’m doing here. What keeps me tied. Caged. What is it?
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110700
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If they don’t cover consequences in your gifted and talented program, you may care to research it.
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110721
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In the living room of a model home, Mr. Jorgensen lived. He was a mannequin. He spent his days in display windows. He spent his commutes displaying the latest model cars.
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110755
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The princess knew exactly where to find the annoying gurgling frog of her childhood, but she wasn't wearing the right shoes to step onto lily pads with, so she decided there and then to take a stolen boat out onto that soft mission, all by herself instead. It was a…
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110734
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Consider this. Only a sentence ago we were complete strangers, oceans of time, distance and thought between us.
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110721
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I remembered because the man took us to see the horses. I didn't see something that set off a series of memories. I only saw the stables and the moon sitting pensively below the firmament. I looked at these and there was spaciousness between the moon and the stables and…
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110611
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I dream about the boy in The Neverending Story, the gate of mirrors, and the Nothing, a dark cloud that floats in the sky, takes away everything.
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110641
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In praise of the colorful flock with crowns
of teased cotton candy rising high above
Modular walls, stalled operating systems
staling coffee and pale corner offices
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110695
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"I wanted to see cities whose names sounded like sad sighs...Oaxaca, Guanajuato, Reynosa, Camargo..."
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110681
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If you had a choice, be a poet or not,
I’d suggest prose for the lines that you jot.
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110610
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Beyond the parrots and the palms, she can see an airplane resting in the canyon below, belly up, wings like outstretched arms, the occupants inside presumably rotting in their seats.
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110661
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1106105
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the poems/
we never got to will remain,
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110620
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Delightful days spent at the beach. Children building castles; as parents watched waves glistening under the afternoon sunlight. Sanderlings running with beaks down, hoping for a tasty morsel through the ebb and flow of tides. As time went by, briefcases,…
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