1362 8 7
|
I ask if anyone has a poem or a story they would like to read. Everybody's hand shoots up.
|
136255
|
They come to wipe themselves from my memory, but that, of course, is impossible. In this place, we are bound together, the long line of men who have killed me, and I.
|
136253
|
Somebody left CNN on all night long
until the news cycle flipped, crashed
and burned
in its own ruins
|
136211
|
A man in Watchupecka, OH, was charged Wednesday night with drunken driving in heavy traffic in downtown Watchupecka when he failed to stop for a red light.
|
13621411
|
I. The sun's corona. Empty boxes near the firehouse. Red birth. A bird's lost wing. II. The bitterness of littleness. Apples in a pile.Early love.A spider, swinging. III. A father's harshness.Twelve bills unpaid. Leaves in a crevice. A dream…
|
136211
|
Lungs bursting in the alleyways
trying to keep with the beat.
|
136200
|
“You sure?” He nods. “Maybe it was pneuomonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.” Flash of a smile, sobbing laughter, like an abandoned seal.
|
136165
|
My dumb body
that does not speak
still
cried out your name
last night.
Did you hear it,
maybe
in your sleep?
|
136110
|
[My baloney has a first name: it's Oh, Ess, Cee, Ay -- shit! I forget the rest! Can we start over?]
|
136144
|
There are some I don’t recognize. My gaze lingers for a second. It’s bad business this.
|
136142
|
So we stayed on the train admiring the time.
|
136141
|
1. They Don't Know When To Fold 'Em Gambling junkies are lit on losing their ass and almost can't wait to unload their money, and then reel on home and bounce off the walls or whatever. For these guys, losing's the jackpot, and deep in the hole for…
|
136120
|
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.
|
1361138
|
last night a girl came
to me in the shape
of my suicide.
|
1361127
|
They say I am filthy. On this high pillar I perch like a stuffed avian relic, flightless, no prey. The horizon before me is broken by scuff and foreign tongue, by atomized evil. Pleas, and there are many, are answered by the only prayer I know, the one prayer, which…
|
136140
|
Jillian speeds across the stone wall, the hem of her dress flaps violently behind her. Sometimes she stands with her back fully erect letting perpetual motion guide her down a bend with her sun blonde locks brightening the dreary sky, or she lurches her
|
136164
|
The voice is back! That voice, like milk and honey, like mother, like the school nurse who bandaged my scraped knee.
|
136122
|
Inspired by the photographic work of Susan Lipper. Grapevine series, 1988-92.
http://susanlipper.com/gv_23.html
|
136100
|
‘Grace’ was eliminated sometime in year b.s. (Before Seat) 12, for bottlenecking Productivity and holding back Progress.
|
136143
|
Skulk like a lovespun spider in a record store corner
on the orange formica subway car
|
1361157
|
She sings off-key while her married lover shadow-boxes his one-dimensional and split-off selves.
|
136152
|
In the zone of forgotten things, everything moves through a weak gravitational field
|
136144
|
Charted stars by the dozens /
with a side of frizzle onions /
dawn showers us with glitter.
|
136062
|
Standing on the beach, watching the waves crash onto the shore, before the storm. It is easy to understand why dogs like sticking their head out of the car window. Standing on my favorite part of the beach, merely feet from the beach house. The house you weren't…
|
136000
|
destinies bring me to a damned desert
|
136010
|
Victor didn't want to be alone, so he phoned Sophie.
|
13601110
|
My emulations always fail. At heart,/
I don’t want bougainvillea nor blushing pilgrims
|
136041
|
Proponents of this pragmatic line of thinking say a tolerant approach to Islam will succeed where force has failed to persuade terrorists to abandon the religious fanaticism.
It's certainly worth a try--it worked with Presbyterians.
|
136064
|
It's not stories the quiet lack, but inclination...
|
1360168
|
Rain and wind and the pecking of birds
|
