1362 10 5
|
the poems/
we never got to will remain,
|
136211
|
always thought you'd show up with a good friendly grin, your heart full of gnosis and the rest of you dressed in denim or terrene hues,back from across the world to honor our sacrosanct thing maybe it would be in the wind chiseled afternoon,or the dusk by tables…
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136222
|
Inspired by the photographic work of Susan Lipper. Grapevine series, 1988-92.
http://susanlipper.com/gv_23.html
|
136243
|
Skulk like a lovespun spider in a record store corner
on the orange formica subway car
|
1362157
|
She sings off-key while her married lover shadow-boxes his one-dimensional and split-off selves.
|
136232
|
Lying in the blissful glow of young television.
Idly sleeping, eyes open and ears closed.
|
136100
|
destinies bring me to a damned desert
|
136120
|
2. Travel To Somewhere Fascinating, Even In Your Own Back Yard!
|
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.
|
13611110
|
My emulations always fail. At heart,/
I don’t want bougainvillea nor blushing pilgrims
|
136142
|
So we stayed on the train admiring the time.
|
136100
|
Good kid. Awesome job in big cities. Travels a lot. Enjoys Martinis and G&T. She's a romantic. Spends her time online trolling people into submission. Likes softcore porn. Sets cats on fire. Collects stamps.
|
136101
|
No one told us that the LZ was already hot and the last Combat Mobile Team had already been shot down and killed. No, no one told us that. So when we came in below about 500 feet I began to hear that "pitit" sound of AK-47 rounds going right through the f
|
136154
|
Guttering semiotics, The jeremiads of delirium; Drinking lukewarm tea over a late candle Like Hamlet in a power-cut; Affecting his own audience of himself, Hastening soliloquies through gritted sophisms, Withered and spun to intentional…
|
1361138
|
last night a girl came
to me in the shape
of my suicide.
|
136144
|
It was that special ache between heart and stomach that made me stop things. That ache that cannot be caused by the mere knowledge that you have steered your life into a completely wrong direction. To feel this pain, you also need to have no clue why and how it…
|
136132
|
All the time I'm eating I can't help but think of the many different tuna melts I have ordered in diners and coffee shops and how each of them disappointed me...
|
136171
|
The sound of a siren approaches his home. His wife asks him why he's so nervous. It's nothing, he says, but he rises from the couch and peers into the night from behind the curtains. The siren approaches relentlessly. The road twists and turns and the sound fades but always…
|
136152
|
In the zone of forgotten things, everything moves through a weak gravitational field
|
136153
|
Once, in the past or future, but definitely not in the present, I worked as a transportation minister for a friendly dictator, whose name was neither Hitler, nor Stalin, nor Kim Jong-Un, but whose mustache was toothbrush, whose smile was sardonic to the p
|
136111
|
Carla woke up from her hospital bed screaming.
"Somebody please help me. Please save me. I am begging you."
|
136120
|
"The rider rode his bike in Arizona just about every day and for all the usual reasons....."
|
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…
|
136075
|
Does sound shape silence/
or silence shape sound?
|
136065
|
A nuclear-plant fuel rod engineer, Dimitri Kastrotov, had an axe to grind, so invented an atomic deterrent, to counterbalance mankind. He targeted the filthy rich, greedy sons of a bitch, breeding war, weapons and nukes at a reckless fever pitch After …
|
136010
|
Victor didn't want to be alone, so he phoned Sophie.
|
13601615
|
|
136000
|
Without light it is black.
|
136064
|
It's not stories the quiet lack, but inclination...
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