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Before he became famous Faulkner was postmaster at the University of Mississippi Substation Post Office, a fact that endears him to mailmen around the world.
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My mother’s serene and patient voice flew up the staircase once again “Megan, are you done feeling sorry for yourself?”
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What
I learned/one summer/in the North East/Thessaloniki heat was. . . .
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The morning news.
The birthday present you bought me.
This poem.
My hair when I wake up in the morning, at any given point in the day.
Pigeon pose.
My singing voice.
How much I love myself.
Coffee.
Sex.
Not having sex.
Having movie star sex.
Ha
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Now that Spring has sprung I am reminded about the day a former neighbour complained about my squirrel collection. I love to feed the black squirrels that gather in my yard and she became convinced I had trained several ninja squirrels to enter her garden
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Everything I understand / is in danger.
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Things that happened, were said, acted upon at twilight or later.
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Then I am in Washington DC impersonating an accountant.
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An electromagnetic pulse/
scrubbed the servers./
The clouds wisped and blew away, empty./
Markets lost what little mind they had.
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The white Boeing 747, all three hundred and sixty eight seats of it, prepared to depart from Johannesburg Airport. Mild conditions on a clear flight path coupled with the soothing voice of the first officer didn't allay my unease. I offered a friendly nod to the…
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It was if you memorized my ever detail but not the why.
And perhaps that is what love is. Was that love?
I lie in bed waiting for the man who came after you
to join me. I hear his heavy footsteps and know
he wants to go to Hawaii too,
when our bud
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each act of creation is a jolt of expectation
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I dreamt, said the Donkey, of an apricot. An apricot the size of a heart. …
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Near dusk today a car backfired on the street beneath my office window
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the things we will accomplish, the things we will leave to others
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The bank bought out the miles of land behind our property.
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I suggested when we passed the flesh shack that we turn around and that I go in and say to the sex workers that the Russians are fetching $3.5K per hour in Manhattan and it's private, unlike there at that road-side shack.
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was entering into a new phase of its existence, a peculiar paradigm of the wider world where, presaged by science, economic and political ideologies were conspiring to displace the old verities of religion and aesthetics, but where…
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We walk though the streets of London, New York, Paris, Prague, Barcelona, Skegness, inhaling air heavy with metaphors, eyes set alight by the microscopic pyrotechnics of quotidian symbols hitherto debased by the outmoded conventions of a bankrupt civilisation decomposing in…
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...when they spotted each other through the glass, with he inside and she outside, she quickly began licking her fork obscenely, attempting to exhibit her sexual prowess with regard to the dexterity of her tongue and mouth...
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My Mother always said that a storm was death knocking.
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In the morning I listen through an ear-trumpet
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The entire room seems waiting for me like an octopus behind a closed, chained door. The monk of the lamp knows he will get his daily turn-on if he prays loudly and just enough for it. The favorite chair has my blue dent in its punched…
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He gave her his driving range and she gave it back. She didn’t know what a bogey was. Arms akimbo he smiled and licked the China cat by the window.
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Damn, the light turned
green
on me.
Wasn't ready.
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Liking up with the Joneses...
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I'm trying to make love to her but she wants to talk.
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