1333 6 6
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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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133200
|
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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133230
|
She’d picked him up at a party freshman year, calling him Danny. Until then he had always been Daniel. He’d said nothing and his name was changed.
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133210
|
He, an irregular chap,
Was known for his hat with a flap.
Had fleet feet and a very strong back.
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133263
|
If you shoot at them now, it'll be attempted murder or, worse, premeditated murder.
|
133221
|
Metropolitan I. Atlantic harbinger of this our swaddled dawn: Mistaking moon's sea sweep for this the frown The sky's plain-countenanced creatures maytimes weep Upon the surface-sundown of our lawn, When gaily surfaced for…
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133284
|
In the moment
I crinkle the aluminum foil,
The sandwich now a deeper
Part of me
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133221
|
I saw three kids the other day, two girls and a boy, crouched in conspiracy
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133255
|
Some nights I want to take my father’s glock / and build my skull a sunroof.
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133220
|
Rose would have preferred to survey the wreckage alone, between sips of her earl grey, but the morning light drew her attention to blonde and jet black curls weaving into folds of fabric.
|
133233
|
As she slunk to her topless Mercedes
sparkling curbside, wax job hand rubbed
in Hamburg, testosterone heads turned
wishing similar treatment.
|
133211
|
A horn honks, brakes squeal, Chloe’s screaming, pulling at her. She’s lying on the sidewalk. Her shin hurts. Her knee. Chloe kneels beside her. Ring of kids staring. I’m good, she says. I’m good.
|
133200
|
Lips to graceful curve, / Found a well from which / This dancing lifeblood comes / (Again and again)...
|
133222
|
We Must Save Ourselves I'm looking for my savior on subways, Is he this man pushing half himself On a skate board, from car to car, Singing I have no Legs, I have no Legs, I'm looking for my savior in coffee shops Of…
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133200
|
". . . Stinkin' vampires, death to all of ’em, them and their plague-festerin' rats. But the new ones, I don’t mind takin’ ’em down before gettin’ rid of ’em. —But you’ll never get that smell off o’ you if you use only one condom, I’m here to tell you . .
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133263
|
You may want to pretend to leave once or twice, peeking in through a window from a darkened room, to see how they interact. Never leave a new poet unattended with the pack until you’ve determined that the new arrival has learned to fit in with the other w
|
133122
|
In the small towns of central and southern Illinois there lives a very indecent sort of man.
|
133131
|
Don’t get me wrong. Maria Shriver is hot, but her angled face makes me think a knife thrower is out to get me.
|
133121
|
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…
|
133111
|
the sour waft of a secret
|
1331127
|
contacts, false eyelashes, strappy open-toed sandals
|
13311410
|
It was 14:24 official eBay time. Louise had spent hours looking at over 30,000 items under “Elvis Memorabilia"
|
133100
|
"That it was my stepdad's fault."
|
133151
|
At 19 words, the whole piece is a snippet.
|
13311411
|
Dear Brandon Lee: I know that you're dead and can't respond to letters, but I've always felt a connection to you.
|
133111
|
Leaning toward Joshua, Stuart says softly, “Take it easy, okay? We’ll bury him. He shouldn’t be left here, in your kitchen.”
Joshua glares. “Don’t you fucking move him.”
|
133100
|
It’s the middle-aged jazz musician who tends to get lost in the shuffle; no longer news, and not ready for the marble statue-treatment.
|
1331117
|
...come come come come...
|
133121
|
“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
|
1331145
|
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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