1274 5 4
|
Is there a homunculus in my brain guiding everything like the pilot of an airliner?
|
127411
|
I pulled at her shirt like a slot machine.
|
127433
|
Today, I am almost entirely self-coincidental, though I still feel a lag lurking somewhere.
|
127420
|
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,
|
127400
|
she flips
you a smile and a white plastic menu, and all the blood in
your head, and upper body rushes to your crouch, and god-all-
mighty, space aliens from the planet Vanna White could be landing in their unnumbered hoards in the parking lot, and all
|
127433
|
As she slunk to her topless Mercedes
sparkling curbside, wax job hand rubbed
in Hamburg, testosterone heads turned
wishing similar treatment.
|
1274118
|
In time's embroidery, the human storyis a short stretch of a short strand within the thread of half a knot-and that stretch of strand's defective. What will mourn us when we're gone?Not the plants which live so lightly on the earth.Not the scorpions and not the ants.Perhaps…
|
127476
|
We exist to facilitate/
successful conclusions of hopeless lives.
|
127411
|
She never leaves her desk, but food appears like magic.
|
127421
|
son a superfly/alligator shoe clad/networking man/working a beeper and flip phone/twisting blueberry spliffs/on ma's porch
|
1274104
|
Contest rules are simple. Two teams of five hunters each are established by drawing from pools of interested volunteers and selected prison inmates confined for capital crimes and illegal immigration.
|
127432
|
Hi de ho, and hey, hey, hey; The farmer's daughter is made of hay. I went to touch her but she blew away, And noo ma hert is nae langer gay. Hi de hoo, and how do you do? The farmer's wife has a cold up her flue, And takes me away…
|
127466
|
I polished his shoes to an avid black; sewed buttons backand mended torn silk and cotton.His clothing was my busy work. Needle, thread, stitch, and iron,I was his apothecary of linens.Blood, wine, soup, vomit --these I cleaned too, until all theircolor and scent…
|
127473
|
Not the torn magazine page, not the smell of ink, not the sweat of palm nor the froth of irish spring
|
127422
|
This is the record of a drowning.
|
127442
|
Story of my life: I was ready for a nightcap and she was just beginning her night.
|
127400
|
The mist monster leaned over the building, drawing its face close to Mayumi. Its’ lavender eyes locked onto the Magi as she stood there ignoring Rumiko’s calls to flee.
|
127421
|
You sleep. The time is soft and slow.
Your dreams are covered with the snow.
|
127342
|
No freebies. You want to read it, you have to read all of it.
|
127332
|
"Don't pull too hard," warned Father. "You might sever it from the body, spraying blood into your eyes."
|
127333
|
|
127376
|
Whistler pounded a nuanced nail,
into our inferior foreheads.
|
127395
|
There were ten thousand photographs buried in the bottom of the jar
|
127301
|
Ben followed Jean-Claude’s white Fiat. Every time Ben shifted gears, he was reminded of Arris’s punch.
|
127300
|
It’s just another
Day where I feel tired, but I
Don’t know why it’s so.
|
1273158
|
Maybe it takes as much fortitude
To forget
As it does
To remember.
|
127374
|
I remember going out to a restaurant with some guy and a friend of mine who brought her little boy along. And suddenly her boy said, “I want to hear the man talk.” Well, that stopped us. Smart kid, I thought. He was fed up hearing her women friends talk
|
127300
|
I know I used to say I’d rather walk on the moon with my own rapacity. And you can easily say things like that, given the luxuriance of youth. But it was a lie, if you want to know the truth. That is only so much hot balloon air, puffed up in the chest,
|
127321
|
Here and there a few bits of beauty, with the highest respect, reverence, erect with pride. Almost twice a thousand dawns, ten thousand in intimacy, the breasts, the nipples, means of the world to nourish itself, by the intimate bay.
It's almost pun
|
127365
|
The one at
dusk is not the one you met this morning.
That one's gone like a head in the window.
|
