1358 9 5
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I want to write a story about a woman who lies to men about her height.
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135786
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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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135722
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thunder striking in a pancake cumulative, his building bouncing upon itself, life going Richtor Scale, a billion pounds of panic per square second
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1357109
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Your tunamelt cadence / Sank me to ocean floors
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1357145
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“In other words you're going to lie through your teeth..."
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1357117
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135700
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The woman tapped a dark plastic stirrer on the tabletop in front of her to emphasize something she was saying.
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135721
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I saw three kids the other day, two girls and a boy, crouched in conspiracy
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135764
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in the pink distance / a boy in a corduroy shirt / sits before an upended electrical spindle / and drinks a vodka gimlet
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135763
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She was from Tennessee,
with advantages over me.
An upbringing surrounded by books
and sensitivity.
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135723
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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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135722
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the injured color wheel of the world
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135653
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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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135666
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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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1356106
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a girl in a red cap
flashes by
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135641
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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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135623
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the mountains did change/became looming purplish waves/their spray washes us/we rinse slow 'neath lifted waves/that must be at least this tall.
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135611
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"I'm just saying," the older man continues, "We oughta be ready in case she hits."
"We'll be fine," the woman says. "We've weathered every storm that's ever come through here just fine."
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135631
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Most people come to dislike me because of the things I say.
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135642
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Every day from my window I saw John Brigham's dog making its way across my field. The dog picked carefully through the shorn corn stubble taking the same route, I'm guessing, it took when the stalks made a shaded rustling forest. There is a narrow path…
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135673
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His audio archive of Bay Area musicians extends along two walls, twenty-five by fifteen feet, in drawers of C.D.s hundreds deep. Where will it go, I asked, permanently.
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1356128
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the tall, thin ectomorph sat
on the verdant, green grass
as the unclothed naked woman
on the Sunday-picnic blanket
poured white cow’s milk
into a vodka shot glass
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135643
|
The blooms are practical/
and cannot see themselves
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135611
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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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135600
|
He woke up four hours later with the second worst headache of his life. He leaned against the car door, his face against the window, and pulled the handle to open the door, but it smacked against the back wall vibrating the glass against his cheek. He tri
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135664
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His beloved are paper-thin when he blows into the free end. Green tint from copper.
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1356105
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the
unutterable
things of
this
world
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135622
|
till the tiny death may we
remain true, me and you, to our flesh and blood and sinew, the
springs and silver in our tiny hearts with vicious teeth and a hard
bone need to fuck
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135612
|
As a boy, he had little hope of ever becoming anything.
|
135653
|
"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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