1355 2 1
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In moving crowds I plan to break you.
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135567
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Lights of human occupation burn/
in patterns like the growth/
of a bacillus, lethal and prodigious,
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135520
|
“Sloshes to sloshes. Drip to drip,” I said, then ceremoniously flushed the toilet bowl, our heads bowed in reverence as Molly and I gave Swimmy its last rites. Swimmy, named by Molly whose overstatement of the obvious is endearing in a three-year-old, was…
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135523
|
As I was reading “Not Your Mother's Book on Home Improvement,” a new collection of light-hearted essays by (primarily) middle-aged female do-it-yourselfers, it became abundantly clear to me that, unlike the women who tell their stories here, I am not a…
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135522
|
the injured color wheel of the world
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135486
|
It must be nice not to have to worry About certain things because those things are not yet In your circle, or in your circus, of life. I don't begrudge you for being almost grown in A much different, sweeter place and time. I'm thrilled By…
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135401
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[............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................]
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135496
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She heads toward the end of the island and doesn't look back.
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135475
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135433
|
As she slunk to her topless Mercedes
sparkling curbside, wax job hand rubbed
in Hamburg, testosterone heads turned
wishing similar treatment.
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135443
|
The blooms are practical/
and cannot see themselves
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135486
|
She wakes up lip-syncing the remnants of a dream: the throb of cherry blossoms, the whine of lotus flowers.
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135463
|
She was from Tennessee,
with advantages over me.
An upbringing surrounded by books
and sensitivity.
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135422
|
I could have said no. I should have said no. Prudence, however, was not in the air. Fourteen minutes later I am at the door of his condo a few blocks from Pier 39. Twenty minutes later I have wriggled into his extra wetsuit and am following him on his wif
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135453
|
"All these people," Rammstein complained, "seems all they wanna do is write about love, and sex along with it, you know? And I think it's because it's all feelgood shit; you know, your sweet baby loves you, and he or she's hot as Angie or Brad, and…
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135353
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You are nothing but a generic white man with average looks and intelligence, trapped in an indie romantic comedy. You sit in your overstuffed coffeeshop chair, drinking an impossibly befoamed cappuccino, the sleeves of your flannel rolled up to your elbows, mellow synth…
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135366
|
I'd like to grow you a new flower. I thinkmaybe I just will. Right now. Here's as good a place as any. Well you'll probably never get to see it, but it will be there just the same and it will be all yours. Kind of like these poems that I make if…
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135300
|
|
135341
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“Damn!” he said to himself, wondering for the millionth time what he was doing in such a sad line of work. Break time, he decided, grabbing his stash box and locking himself into the freezing cold bathroom to smoke a joint.
He emerged thirty minutes la
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1353109
|
Your tunamelt cadence / Sank me to ocean floors
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1353117
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135300
|
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.
|
135311
|
He was rummaging through his giant pile of clothing on the floor, looking for something to wear to sleep. When he couldn't quite tell what was dirty and what was clean, he knew it was time for laundry. Just as he was going to…
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135364
|
I try as much as I can to write but only in as much as you believe―am I successful.
|
1353105
|
the
unutterable
things of
this
world
|
135332
|
And so began my love affair with a thick, semisold substance. Sort of like Mary Van de Velde, the chubby girl who was my partner in my 6th grade polka troupe.
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135333
|
WAITING FOR HURRICANE DENNIS, FLORIDA 2005 With soft eyes, she quizzed, shivered, said: “Where's Dad? Where's Ric? Will you leave me here alone? Are you all going to leave? Where's Peter? Do you feel all right? We're…
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135200
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When not enough is left to utterThe syllables it takes to say,Goodbye--Disassembled and developed,Laid upon the ground,Like the girded gridlockOn your smog befitted brow...Goodbye.And what if I said, hello?What if I said, good day?Would it change your sunken bodyAnd repair…
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135232
|
To conceive of them separated was unthinkable to every wet-eyed soul at the burial.
|
135220
|
here’s the deal…
sorrow follows tears…
pain later for the happiness now…
is the joy something we only borrow…?
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