1382 16 11
|
On Monday, May 7, 2018, at the age of 67, I had a stroke.
|
1381 0 0
|
Azure understood now. She felt it there as she remembered what she told Sora after her ordeal with the domed creature.
|
1381 1 0
|
|
1381 3 2
|
To conceive of them separated was unthinkable to every wet-eyed soul at the burial.
|
1381 5 4
|
Writing opens doors to perception. For example, the glockenspiel smells of gardenias, but the catwalk is opening a can of Franklin stove. It emits fumes of fairyland and olive. And in the green and pleasant country of Scotland and England, vintage trains go…
|
1381 2 0
|
Our ragged wits, ragged minds, after acting out all, imitating all honey-like tunes, air song, excellence of song, true flower of the world. So the sun has some of its honey wintered away, to bring it into contact with such a human voice as yours.
|
1381 15 8
|
I believe I will become a bear, snuggle up in a deep cave, coil myself inside my fur, close my eyes on hurting images, turn a deaf ear to the uproar of the world. Bolt my door to the deceiving voices outside. Sleep. Forget. Wait, as we wait for spring, for the violet and…
|
1381 1 0
|
Us kids in left field steal out bedroom windows after dark to pinch hit Lucky Strikes between first and second fingers, arc the glow of shop-lifted hot-boxed cigarettes over the chain link homerun fence sprawl on perfectly ridiculous grass passing a bottle…
|
1381 2 1
|
“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
|
1381 8 7
|
I ask if anyone has a poem or a story they would like to read. Everybody's hand shoots up.
|
1381 8 4
|
His legs were pedaling hard and his heart was beating fast, He's got his scars; He can't outrun his past, Down the hill he goes, wind whipped his hair, a new style with each draft. He broke his brakes long ago; He cut the cable and ripped off the pads. He cried…
|
1381 1 0
|
it is heavier than it looks with edges smoothed by the passage of time
|
1381 2 0
|
Charley calls to say he hasn't heard from me. The blinds are gone, so I take a lipstick off the living room table and draw a circle around his head. I make a half-circle for his gut, a squiggle for the telephone cord. He can come over, he says, just to …
|
1381 12 8
|
My mother should have been a minister or a peace officer. Instead, she was a homemaker who ran the home like an agency. There were certain hard and fast rules.
|
1381 3 2
|
She is not centered, but she finds her way.
|
1381 1 2
|
As a boy, he had little hope of ever becoming anything.
|
1381 3 2
|
Hope is the thing playing checkers
|
1381 4 4
|
instead of gun metal deceit, sounds of malice;be a drop of rain.
|
1381 3 2
|
|
1380 2 1
|
Where are you going, boy who never was?
|
1380 0 0
|
destinies bring me to a damned desert
|
1380 0 0
|
There were six people on the bridge, myself included, and we were making our way across when something exploded—it was more a rifle shot than explosion, actually—and it cut like a razor through the delicate fabric of the moment.
|
1380 2 0
|
My first year I hated how big and unruly the plants got.
|
1380 0 0
|
He bounds like a lunar explorer into the Edinburgh Castle, the goofy porcelain busts glaring at him with contempt.
|
1380 6 3
|
I figured he knew what he was doing–he was the crazy one, after all, not me–so we took turns snorting lines of equal volume.
|
1380 4 2
|
I remember this vivid dream I had once. Maybe you were in it? I’m not sure. There was a gang of spitting men outside this bar, standing beside a whole row of gleaming motorcycles, with tons of chrome, and I remember my dreams were their feathers. They
|
1380 1 1
|
Salted sea of summer fingers- sand and salted skinmelt in me; vanilla ice cream lick- your lips; salty kiss saliva- sweet salt of semen run down my chin languid-salty sweat of you.
|
1380 1 0
|
She smiled at him. "You want to know the secret, that's why you want her to tell - not because you want her to be happy."
|
1380 6 6
|
And pity us, this generation of sighing:
|
1380 6 4
|
I try as much as I can to write but only in as much as you believe―am I successful.
|