1364 6 4
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The voice is back! That voice, like milk and honey, like mother, like the school nurse who bandaged my scraped knee.
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136422
|
Inspired by the photographic work of Susan Lipper. Grapevine series, 1988-92.
http://susanlipper.com/gv_23.html
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136400
|
‘Grace’ was eliminated sometime in year b.s. (Before Seat) 12, for bottlenecking Productivity and holding back Progress.
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136443
|
Skulk like a lovespun spider in a record store corner
on the orange formica subway car
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136452
|
In the zone of forgotten things, everything moves through a weak gravitational field
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136444
|
Charted stars by the dozens /
with a side of frizzle onions /
dawn showers us with glitter.
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136432
|
Lying in the blissful glow of young television.
Idly sleeping, eyes open and ears closed.
|
136400
|
“You sure?” He nods. “Maybe it was pneuomonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.” Flash of a smile, sobbing laughter, like an abandoned seal.
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136344
|
There are some I don’t recognize. My gaze lingers for a second. It’s bad business this.
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13631615
|
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13631110
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My emulations always fail. At heart,/
I don’t want bougainvillea nor blushing pilgrims
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136363
|
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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136331
|
He's gonna find he wasn't born lucky after all, his propaganda has got up on the wrong side of the bed and sidled onto the couch.
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136344
|
You go out on a night with no moon, when all the stars are flush in the sky, when all of everything, even you, is just a shadow moving softly, and I swear, you can hear it, if you listen hard enough. The music. It’s like it’s coming from under the ground.
|
1363105
|
the poems/
we never got to will remain,
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136354
|
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…
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136331
|
The whole scene smells like paranoia.
|
136344
|
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…
|
1363157
|
She sings off-key while her married lover shadow-boxes his one-dimensional and split-off selves.
|
136371
|
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…
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136353
|
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
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136300
|
Writing books is like raising children. You do your best, nurture them, discipline them, coddle them, feed them, patch up their injuries, sing to them, try to sell them, but no matter what you do, they are what they are.
|
136387
|
The rat had been informed, assured, cajoled in order to gain his assent—duly lied to, in other words, by the researchers with not one tear of remorse, with no smudge or smear of conscience . . .
|
136320
|
"The rider rode his bike in Arizona just about every day and for all the usual reasons....."
|
136262
|
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…
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136230
|
So this was how it started. The next day Kia returned to sit with him a bit and the next day and the day after that until the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months. Eventually she found out his name was Saul, that he had no 'proper' job, was o
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136210
|
Victor didn't want to be alone, so he phoned Sophie.
|
136242
|
So we stayed on the train admiring the time.
|
136242
|
By lunch:
The dryer is an F-5 dervish of mismatched socks, blue jeans and your yellowing college T's, lovingly held onto. For a moment there is a comforting warmth and softness to their smell. In the debris strewn landscape of the living room a carcass
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136211
|
It was in his teeth. A blackness, a subscription to an outsideness, a painful contraction of burnt out trees scattered there among sand drifts and tidal debris. His face, lightly weathered and troubled, a tightness built into eyes of thought and separation. His arms, strong…
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