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a white rabbit with a dirty monocle and a straw hat regarded marsha from the grass at the edge of the mud.
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She stood there with her back to me and her dress around her ankles.
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It's a funny thing, watching a Snowman shiver
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Dear Brandon Lee: I know that you're dead and can't respond to letters, but I've always felt a connection to you.
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You have more names
Than a Spanish grandee. Your lives
I’m too envious to count.
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“I have a theory,” she said on their first date, which was at an Indian restaurant where the music was a lovely singsong but the chef seemed enraged as he clapped a ball of dough between his hands, then threw it into the flames. And her date, whom she…
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“Help me,” the man said in his mind. He lay beside the folding camp stool alone in the middle of the woods, in the clearing where he and the dog always rested.
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When we were on the road coming back out to California, along the Lewis and Clark trail somewhere near Cardwell, Montana, I remember thinking life was like leaping through flames while reading poetry and drinking rotgut red wine. This was what life was, a
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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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“Got a big one boy! He's movin' real fast! Don't think he has had time to eat the bait just yet, so we need to play him out. Let the hook set. Don't want to loose him! Get the net ready!”
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"Man, I'd love to do coke chopped up with the remains of this motherfucker," he said as the unicorn's head smacked against the screen of his netbook for the 12,364th time.
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Sorrow fences with fear and questions
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The view from the tenth floor of Ramses Hilton hotel was depressing. A restless crowd undulated between the wrecks of tanks and armored cars.
JOURNALIST: Hey! I’m dying here, and you admire the views?
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It’s a compromising situation...
The would be Bride of Christ begins perspiring
before the crowd.
Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring echoes through the antique church
just one more time,
a little loud.
With every added verse and every flickering vigi
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In frustration, he picked up a hammer and slammed it straight into the center of the mask.
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they say the sense of smell is the strongest sense connected to memory, but not for me
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My gaze could have gutted any man. Any man, but John Marcy. History would write that John Marcy was a traitor to his country. Public enemy number one in the state of New York. When that probably couldn’t be farther from the truth.
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The broken car horn wailed for 40 days and 40 nights.
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[...] A crimson post-it note/ illustrates the squiggle of a resting pulse wavering/
near the broken pencil leads and whorls of/soft wood which may be classed as evidence.
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If you've ever cleaned house because a death is coming,you know it's the same as any other kind of cleaning.Wipe the tables.Pick up the floor.Sweep the crumbs under the carpet.For later.And for the ants.It's different, too.Because you're floating.On caffeine.On muffled…
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Fingers scrabble idly at pocket seams, forage between teeth, grasp for tepid cups, patter a drumbeat on knees.
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Past the pavilion, past the factory, past the underside of the bridge where the surfers jimmy their sloppy fingers over the oil barrels.
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Howling, prowling, yowling Baby Dykes, stalkin' chicks, throwin' fits, takin' hits! A thousand thigh divin', rosebud nipped, fur licking dancin' cats, (Claws in, claws
out! Yes!) sniffin' that cradle of love.
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Apocalyptica 1. the portent holds you while you try for solace in the bath anticipating the opened mouth the one that cannot close after and there is a knotting inside of joints and threads poised so delicately in the waiting …
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I know I used to say I’d rather walk on the moon with my own rapacity. And you can easily say things like that, given the luxuriance of youth. But it was a lie, if you want to know the truth. That is only so much hot balloon air, puffed up in the chest,
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I have no confidence that you'll complete the task. Shit, you probably don't even understand it in the slightest.
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They might think that loneliness has made me gullible, more than willing to open for them all kinds of drawers.
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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…
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We believe in our love storyin spite of the ferocious efforts ofserial bankerseverywhere to discourage us from looking our damned nearprettiest if we really feel like it. I meangranted they do do their ugly troll dogimpressions of…
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“I do not know if you can hear me, or if you can talk to me. Some people do not believe in people like you, you know, spirits, ghosts or whatever you are. I do. I know you are here because of what happened here.” I could not speak. I did not feel I could.
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