1301 1 1
|
I survived as a brave thought,
|
130144
|
instead of gun metal deceit, sounds of malice;be a drop of rain.
|
130010
|
I remember a time when Calvin, my husband, was like Winnie the Pooh and I was a jar of fine Provençal honey. No amount of my sweetness could satisfy his craving for me. He would spread me on his toast with butter at breakfast and mix me with peanut butter
|
130021
|
It made him feel better to imagine she was someone else, someone he didn't know. This comfort bothered him
|
130021
|
I call beauty to me
With the architecture
Of this place
Beauty that has no doubt
Been pulled to me
All its life
|
130000
|
Six just left to drive 8 hours thru the jungle. They’ll emerge in a year in military guerilla uniforms. One guy threw up getting in.
A friend writes, “I started a Free Mike Todaro Campaign. Hope to raise a couple of hundred dollars. We will, of co
|
130022
|
A fat kid running;
the sounds of an ice-cream truck
—counterproductive.
|
130000
|
Tombstone is a tongue of stone in the mouth of the desert. The desert is a living entity. It speaks. It speaks with a tongue of stone. It says: Tombstone.
|
130030
|
He's got a rager for Casablanca, the old Bogart and Bergman classic. I can't snap him out of it.
|
130055
|
The blind can be a little bit
Angry now and then
Trying to be independent
They don’t want or need your help
Usually. They’re a little like bees
You have to learn to leave them alone
But I remember one day when I
Guided the fingers of Bli
|
130000
|
Mustard stings the corner of his lips. He swipes it away with a finger, and looks closer at the hot dog. The piece of meat is ripped open like a sliced finger stuck in a doughy bandage
|
130000
|
The moon bulges with meticulous sick amber fire while first night’s chest heaves and sputters free infantine monstrosity from plague-wormed hovels, din mold choked grottos, and stale metal-cast labyrinth catacombs.
|
130021
|
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.
|
130042
|
—Man, what a tearjerker way to end an interview, said Ben.
|
130052
|
It's morning, and the cold black hull of branches sets my resting pier, Amid this drizzle, underneath the poignant pain of birches, wrecked By floods of midyear grieving; wraithlike, Dawn's been becked To paint in shafts of faded rose that shades the fen…
|
130022
|
In the end, he knew he wasn’t going home.
|
130000
|
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
|
129922
|
1. Having made Alice from one of the Mad Hatter's ribs, Humpty Dumpty told her she could do anything, except speak. “How bothersome!” she said.2. In the church, Alice was horrified to be presented with a talking lamb. “EAT ME!” it bleated and, as the…
|
129910
|
Victor didn't want to be alone, so he phoned Sophie.
|
129953
|
He slathered the glue on my scalp and talked non-stop about Harlem. Electrodes or nodes, I never asked which, would measure something inside my head. I doubt they actually did though, measure anything. I've had the pleasure of having wires glued to my skull before and have…
|
129954
|
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…
|
129931
|
Lucien Lucien Tidesquall lay almost sleeping amid the soft green grass. His eyes irradiated green midnight under vanquished brows. A plover hovered somewhere in the distance. It reminded him of a poem he had written as a teenager, a haiku that went as…
|
129921
|
He turned metal chains to rubber with the force of his mind. He prepared tacos for the paperboy.
|
129986
|
I woke like an animal / breeding thoughts like flies
|
129940
|
A group of us from work are playing cards at a friend's house, so when my brother Jimmy calls, I take my phone into the other room. I already know what it's about, really the only reason he ever calls these days.“Look, I hate to ask,” he begins, the way he…
|
129931
|
This is a very impromptu piece written at two in the morning based on a prompt from Meg Pokrass, who insisted the following words be used: fussyhairybloomingslipperyflutterdamppaleweedsyanking “Maxfuss” was his password, which was appropriate,…
|
129954
|
hangs inverted and
begins a swirling motion,
|
129944
|
You are in a car speeding through Dublin towards the West year after year the journey uncoils past the same landmarks Kilmainham Jail strapped to a chair bullet to the brain on by the Rowntree Mackintosh factory where the black and yellow and orange and r
|
1299177
|
the burning thrusts/
of yellow in defiance of the frost
|
129900
|
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.
|
