1271 0 0
|
She's speaking again, this time in whispers. Her head is shrinking in on itself. If there is a way to save her I'm not aware of it.
|
127132
|
"Don't pull too hard," warned Father. "You might sever it from the body, spraying blood into your eyes."
|
1271188
|
he who laughs last is probably a dumbass fuck
|
127154
|
I can trust you with my secrets, can’t I?
|
127122
|
They watch her, scald her skin with hot eyes whose stares run up and down her body like lice.
|
127133
|
Today, I am almost entirely self-coincidental, though I still feel a lag lurking somewhere.
|
127121
|
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
|
12711210
|
Sometimes I had the time right, and sometimes the place; that day, they came together.
|
127133
|
As she slunk to her topless Mercedes
sparkling curbside, wax job hand rubbed
in Hamburg, testosterone heads turned
wishing similar treatment.
|
12711910
|
got the space heater going in the desert
got a lot of space out there somewhere
|
127111
|
A 20-footer up on skids
sky-blue paint beneath the bondo
|
127111
|
She never leaves her desk, but food appears like magic.
|
127111
|
“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 ...
|
127122
|
At the Winslow Funeral Home in Winslow, Arizona, just like in the Eagles’ 70s song “Take It Easy,” only I’m not taking it easy.
|
127122
|
This is the record of a drowning.
|
127100
|
Picnicking In Mt. Misery Cemetery We breathe the damp shade, plum trees shining in a woodland where there are few wrong things I want to remember-- the steel fence of the power company blazing under an arc light is one. On this day of ripening fruit …
|
127033
|
|
127095
|
There were ten thousand photographs buried in the bottom of the jar
|
127001
|
Ben followed Jean-Claude’s white Fiat. Every time Ben shifted gears, he was reminded of Arris’s punch.
|
1270116
|
Heel to toe, our bunions
are our ingrown medals.
|
127021
|
The elephant was breakable and I know that my grandmother held her breath every time I went near it, and I was repeatedly cautioned that it was not to be played with only admired. She taught me in her own way, respect for it. She may have commented on the green with a bit…
|
1270158
|
Maybe it takes as much fortitude
To forget
As it does
To remember.
|
127074
|
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
|
127044
|
"Shouldn’t I be able to easily get my arms around nothing?”
|
127033
|
Why, these were the young hands
that I kissed only last night.
|
127000
|
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,
|
127055
|
|
127000
|
You ask yourself, how can you be living but dead? It is not possible. Yet it can be and it can be slightly reversible, but realistically, for most people, it is not. Living but dead, is walking in the world of the in-between. Standing with one foot on the
|
127076
|
We exist to facilitate/
successful conclusions of hopeless lives.
|
127021
|
“You think it’s a self-castrating suicide note or a self-righteous freedom speech?”
“Probably just the ramblings of a madman, pissed he lost a company baseball game.”
“Fuckin-A, Pete! Double-murder suicide for a baseball game? Ain’t nobody that craz
|
