1424 0 0
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142400
|
"That it was my stepdad's fault."
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142463
|
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.
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142410
|
machine utility of thought,
intangible aesthetic of sentiment.
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142466
|
And pity us, this generation of sighing:
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142434
|
Dark morning sleet whitecrusts the world
once more, shrouds remains
of January thaw:
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142453
|
Somebody left CNN on all night long
until the news cycle flipped, crashed
and burned
in its own ruins
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1424145
|
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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142463
|
She was from Tennessee,
with advantages over me.
An upbringing surrounded by books
and sensitivity.
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142450
|
You wouldn’t believe an organ the size of a heart could scream like a nine-year-old sissy girl but mine did.
|
142432
|
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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142420
|
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 …
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142444
|
On our wedding day he carried all of the furniture out of our small bedroom, created a sanctuary.
|
142411
|
I blame you for my short temper when I go off the handle when my blood runs cold and I can't think straight I can only react. When I say things I don't mean Even if I do. But I am glad for the fire you started inside of me. That time I…
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142412
|
As a boy, he had little hope of ever becoming anything.
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142433
|
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.
|
142454
|
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…
|
142444
|
instead of gun metal deceit, sounds of malice;be a drop of rain.
|
142400
|
“You sure?” He nods. “Maybe it was pneuomonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.” Flash of a smile, sobbing laughter, like an abandoned seal.
|
142400
|
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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142421
|
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
|
142321
|
Shut up.You shut up.That's disgusting.You should talk.Fuck off.Fuck me.whore.Yes.More.Shut up.
|
142322
|
“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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142375
|
Whatever you have,/
we can monetize it
|
142312
|
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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142381
|
Buck, naked, has no words. The best he can manage is a dopey strangulated cough. His wife, who is clothed, stands before him, next to the waterbed that took Buck half a day to force into the trailer.
|
142300
|
this is your hair, this is your stare, this is your voice
|
142300
|
Welcome to the world of (un)reality television. He/she who dies with the most stories wins. Another kind of religion. The Church of Being Famous For Whatever.
|
142321
|
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.
|
142300
|
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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