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The whole scene smells like paranoia.
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Did I refer to Mark Twain’s typewriter as an animal? Did I call it a hyena? I would not say that about Mark Twain’s typewriter.
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I sat at
the vast graveyard
of broken hearts
on the mending fence
of wonderment
unsealing the silence
of the wounds
I began to put the pieces
together
like a puzzle against
forgetting
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We both looked toward the house. We could just make out a light that was barely visible coming from the side where their bedroom window was. Slowly an evil grin appeared on Darrell's face. He looked at the knife in his hand. "This will do it!" he sa
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You wouldn’t believe an organ the size of a heart could scream like a nine-year-old sissy girl but mine did.
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No preview available due to the brevity of the piece. In fact, this comment itself is longer than the piece.
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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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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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On our wedding day he carried all of the furniture out of our small bedroom, created a sanctuary.
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“You sure?” He nods. “Maybe it was pneuomonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.” Flash of a smile, sobbing laughter, like an abandoned seal.
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One said 'Yes, I remember.' He was dark and tall and slender
A masterful pretender who laid roses on the floor
Appearing on the eve of morrow, so slow and full of sorrow
With a costume he did borrow, borrowed from the poet's lore
From the rare and rad
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Macro-Microbe parked his car and proceeded on foot, which was a misnomer because he had no feet. Typical for Manhattan, no one gave him a second glance except for a homeless woman who tried to sell him hand-sanitizer. Macro-Microbe locomoted himself insid
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Once a friend asked me to write about rape in an email, so I wrote that it is a weapon of war that would not work here because partners do not give in to it; in fact, they would say it is infidelity in relationships.
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Life strikes another blow and away I go: back to the cave to sleep, read, write, dream, soothed by rocking chair therapy, spend hours on hours looking at photo memories, lighting incense and candles, crying, howling out the injustices smothering me. …
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Whatever you have,/
we can monetize it
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the poems/
we never got to will remain,
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He's got a rager for Casablanca, the old Bogart and Bergman classic. I can't snap him out of it.
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I slept and it was pleasant. Then there was the kiss, and it was hot. Later you turned away, and all was November chill. Now there are touches, caresses and shouts, Marvelous nights flavored with favors bestowed, and blackened days,…
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It leaves on a Saturday,suddenly, while you are raking leaves or taking out the trash.Those inevitable, boring things.You do not hear it go;it's been quiet before when it left certain rooms. It no longersleeps beside you, and you learnedlong ago that the bed was…
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Dark morning sleet whitecrusts the world
once more, shrouds remains
of January thaw:
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I suggested when we passed the flesh shack that we turn around and that I go in and say to the sex workers that the Russians are fetching $3.5K per hour in Manhattan and it's private, unlike there at that road-side shack.
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I passed the old man from upstairs now and then, usually on Saturdays.
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I imaged him at his mother's house, eating chicken and tabouli with her at her round marble table, leaning back and laughing, then reading my “love you” and excusing himself to cry in the bathroom.
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So, my wife got fired from her job for being three minutes late five times. But he had it in for her, the fatty boss. He was lazy and she was smart, in line for his job. And she had a workman's comp case against the hospital—she'd slipped in pudding in the cafeteria…
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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.
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At six a.m. he was awakened by the alarm on the watch, and found he could not remove it from his wrist, though he was able to turn it off. Of course, she was gone, but had left a little patchouli-scented note on a pillow.
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Falling asleep remembering lies that had been built around lies
Lies to impress people
Lies to make life more convenient
Lies, I didn’t even know why I told them.
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Her Majesty’s Glasses
Umbilical Chord
Linger Finger
Okay Inkjet
The Dragon Flies
Horny
Free Spirit
Good Footnote
Buttery Clams
You’reUp
Empty Bladder
Star Butter
Karmic Impulse
Mr. On-the-Ve
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“Gentlemen, how could I go about attracting the KGB?”
Now that got the attention of Boris and Vladimir. Their eyes bulged right out of their heads. They both started huffing and puffing.
“What are you, crazyman or something?” said Boris.
Vla
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