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Green is the color of emeralds, jade, and growing grass. In the continuum of colors of visible light it is located between yellow and blue. Green is the color mostShades of green desireIn the Category: Shades of green Green politics meet…
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I hand one of them the octopus and run out of the room.
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The heart of those stars is a dab of yellow light. The darkness of the blue night appearing so deep because of the downward strokes of the actual sky interspersed with a violet that is almost black above the truly black silhouettes of the city buildings
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143423
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I think we had parties with cats before— you were Mr. Gallant, and I Madame Sunshine—we would drink tea laced with toilet spray, and you would complain:…
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143441
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We gave our cigarettes names.
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I lay on a table in a cold room in one of those little blue gowns that open in back.
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143444
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Write me a Will you laughing boy,
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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!”
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the darkness held frieghtened by the surveillance of a distant white shimmer.
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A subway train rumbled through the underground and she actually felt it slither under her feet. Her gaze lingered for a moment on the desiccated leaves and the small rectangle of blue cardboard the blustery wind had wedged between the gargoyle's talons.
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Dragonfly She danced out of the burning rubble, wrapped in a shawl made of iridescent silk. It must have been her grandmother's. Her arms were wings, the silk translucent and fluttering. Fire fell from the sky. Thatched roofs, walls of mud-daubed sticks, the huts…
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a girl in a red cap
flashes by
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He fought off the U-boat packs in the Atlantic — one hand on the tiller, one on the torpedo launch button.
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143311
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His Danger Pistol was out of bullets, his Bag of Tricks was empty, and he wasted his last can of Antimatter back at the lab. All he had was his Charm and his wits. Charm wouldn't last forever, and he'd always come up a little short in the wits department.
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there is a tunnel / between your skin and the ground / for kisses to crawl
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They might think that loneliness has made me gullible, more than willing to open for them all kinds of drawers.
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We dance on rooftop, then I fall off.You're like, "oh shit."Pale blue lobster finds me. Says, "hello." Taps me with claw, "wake up." Looks around, concerned. Shakes me with two claws on collar.Scuttles away for a second.Comes back with warm, perfect, round glazed doughnut.…
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Jim Morrison moved
ever so slightly
in the cold of his grave
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143300
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Jannsun started working for Matrix back when he gave up on writing the next great American Novel, which was about five years ago, right after the war. He was old for a Web Zone designer but who knew? Who cared? His work was all done via satellite and as l
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No one knows where the wind comes from, but sure as hell it comes.
The executioner glances round the reception area. Nods to himself. Function versus form. Anodyne, instantly forgettable, like hotel rooms. Perfect.
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My table offers up the gutted calf/
with carrots and potatoes yanked /
alive and whole
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her expressive sigh releasing. Sated. The last of our kind, evolving flightless we remain on the ground, culling through corpulent consumption.
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. . . once you start reading and thinking about what he's saying, it's like looking at the reflection of your soul in a mirror . . .
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143200
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I am the ocean. My soulless organs live in all of its motionless movement. I am the low. The high. The in between. I am nothing. Back and forth, I simply float along: existing, rising, and then falling into a life that can be considered one big decision left…
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The door flew open, hitting the wall, and the woman seated in the corner across from her pressed herself against the bench. Loretta saw that down through her petticoats came a trickle of yellow liquid, which pooled on the floor.
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While sipping Earl Grey tea in the tent of Princess Citronella, I could hear the nightime burping of several camels outside trying to settle down. A slight breeze entered in through an opened flap and gently vibrated a piece of paper the Princess was handing me. A dog…
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I will admit it. // I cannot write poetry / to save my life—
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Once upon a time I sat in summer chairs beside cool vine walls. This was in a borough east of the major city, where families gathered in seasonal joy, by blooms fragrant, to worship the summer and its might. There is nothing diminutive about the world when one is…
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The face had become a chilling death mask.
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