1054 3 2
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For the camera
she smiles
otherwise not
and
only when she is
standing beside him
But for the camera?
for the crowd
for posterity
yes
For their children
for the future?
yes, again yes
a thousand times
until her face
be
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105484
|
He had become an accessory to a murder.
|
105464
|
Light spreads its way across the sky like a drop of inkon dry cotton sheets:starts at one point and expandsas wind shufflesover bodies, seashoist your sailsand I'll throw this oneoverthe night can have itnowhear the waveshow they seem satisfiedwith their…
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105483
|
Our lives are lived backward in memory...
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105494
|
My dad / always had a fondness for Raleigh’s kind of loss
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105422
|
Steve lowers himself onto a lounge chair and lets out a long, overdue sigh. Cliff and Jim, the frickin’ and frackin’ of the built-in pool industry, are making a Burger Chef run while the cement sets.
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105430
|
The last time my old lady threw me out, I decided to go and stay with my brother. I thought, "That's the last place I'll be welcome," and I knew that was true. The drive was calming, which was good, because Steven wouldn't have even let me in if I…
|
105486
|
My table offers up the gutted calf/
with carrots and potatoes yanked /
alive and whole
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105321
|
I liked her when I first saw herShe came to meI liked her hair and body and eyesBu there was something wrong with Her teethScarred beautyI hit it off with her easily at the barThe others didn't like herShe was a cookShe told me about her narcolepsy, ADHD, Tourettes…
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105322
|
Past the pavilion, past the factory, past the underside of the bridge where the surfers jimmy their sloppy fingers over the oil barrels.
|
105320
|
Maria met her husband in World War Two. Maria is now eighty-two. She is from the country of Tuscany. She has lived in may countries. She was a war bride. She has a son. Maria's son is sixty-three. As a baby-boomer he won't retire until sixty-five Maria says.…
|
105396
|
She heads toward the end of the island and doesn't look back.
|
105398
|
This is what happens when a writer falls in love...
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105344
|
You go out on a night with no moon, when all the stars are flush in the sky, when all of everything, even you, is just a shadow moving softly, and I swear, you can hear it, if you listen hard enough. The music. It’s like it’s coming from under the ground.
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105301
|
The soft twin winds
of peace and harmony
flow through your nipples
It is not milk
that gives such flow
but the whiff of life’s
spirit, the wind
of poetry
the renewal
and the silence
of the love
you give me
I suck like a new
|
105320
|
Emma held her arm up to John’s eyes. He looked, nodded. “My burns are on the inside,” he told her. “I’ll never show you.”
|
105343
|
The blooms are practical/
and cannot see themselves
|
105300
|
Gaston could remember the first time he set eyes on Deno. He'd gone into the back of the house to enquire after a lost order and found himself face to face with the dish washer, a man in his late 20s, dual heritage, tall, staring eyes and dangling useless hands. The…
|
105310
|
There's one graveyard for the part-timers and another for the full-timers. Ours is a little nicer, but we're still all going to hell. Do you remember St. Petersburg? No, you're memory's not that good.
|
105393
|
Our trouble decided when the CUNY PhD student, a poet, cried out, “Racination!” during discussion of my poem.
|
105375
|
Beneath an opal moon, the open field and wilderness across it look immersed in varying shades of blue. A strong night howler blows across a little girl's face as she walks the field as if in a trance; her whole visage framed against the backdrop of this very act …
|
105350
|
She sat Indian style against the strawberry tree. In her hand she held a little mirror and a note that her father left her that morning.
What a night, eh? See you in the morning.
That’s what it said.
|
105211
|
I have a fascination with Dickens and London and this was inspired by my next novel.
|
105220
|
A rock group named Stuck Gas Pedal. Another named Tweezer. A group of young punk-rockers wearing neckerchiefs named Mein Kampfire. But wait, there’s more.
A song called “We Were Being Facetious,” co-written by them all.
Lost Flyswatter. That
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105242
|
After it is over, I go out into the world, to the café. The flower sellers are setting up their booth outside the glass doors. Classical guitar over the speakers. A soft rain falling. Heads bowed, reading the news. Coffee, croissants, cappuccino. This g
|
105274
|
Not all ideas are bad, just mine.
|
105211
|
The clouds cried more than silver tears,
this time.
|
105200
|
It's a funny thing, watching a Snowman shiver
|
105231
|
Lucien Lucien Tidesquall lay almost sleeping amid the soft green grass. His eyes irradiated green midnight under vanquished brows. A plover hovered somewhere in the distance. It reminded him of a poem he had written as a teenager, a haiku that went as…
|
105243
|
The old hate the young. Robe exposed monks do not Hate mosquitoes. It is one. It is one hand. It is on. Mountains don't hate sky. The rich hate the poor. The poor hate the rich. The parade of scholars hate the …
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