1311 8 6
|
|
131120
|
These are the days you wish would never end.
|
131153
|
She is a manifold of temporal flows.
|
1311137
|
Expose those for whom freedom is greed.
|
131100
|
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
|
131120
|
They shoveled coal into the furnace of the city so the ghosts would be warm for their haunting.
|
131120
|
Darkness on my mind
doesn't make me blind.
|
13111714
|
After Slick Daddy — aka Billy Ray Thompson — gave up driving his log truck and took up with playing and singing the blues full-time he was what you might call a hot property around the juke joints along Highway 61. The women didn't seem to mind…
|
131188
|
I invited Henry to go out with me and Marge, suggesting he ask Ellen who he dated a while back and who still asked about him, but Henry shook his head “no” and said “out things” were just too boring at our ages — and besides, since his…
|
131111
|
“I want you to face the toys!”
|
131142
|
—Man, what a tearjerker way to end an interview, said Ben.
|
131152
|
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…
|
131131
|
I’ve seen your tired souls
riding under the city
lost in the drowsiness
of morning calm commutes.
|
131100
|
He was lit up faintly.Standing in a room of golden proportions (which is not saying a lot), he was one stood man (which is). The only lamp, a seemingly old neon, hanging short from its chains, shone darkly above none. None but a five-feeted glass plane, upon which glossy…
|
131160
|
Where the fuck are my keys?Where the hell is my phone?Where the fuck are my keys?Where the hell is my phone?Where the fuck are my keys?Where the hell is my phone?Where the fuck are my keys?Where the hell is my phone?Where the fuck are my keys?Where the hell is my…
|
131111
|
Carla woke up from her hospital bed screaming.
"Somebody please help me. Please save me. I am begging you."
|
131120
|
"The rider rode his bike in Arizona just about every day and for all the usual reasons....."
|
131021
|
Even at five years old, I could tell that Eloise was haunted by ghosts that shook her core, leaving her dangling and seeking stability in slowly repeating her compulsive routines.
|
131077
|
this elegant silver wrench/
which from the opposite side/
becomes a golden Phillips-head
|
131000
|
A door slams. The vibrations rattle through the floor, up his legs and into his chest. He can hear the yells, and the tears that mar her voice. Rat-ta-tatRat-ta-tat A door slams. Eyes closed while images of a life he will never live flicker on…
|
131022
|
By dawn, she is ready to hunt.
|
131053
|
It's not a funeral. Nobody to mourn over.
|
131031
|
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…
|
131011
|
1
Al Capone was ruling the backstreets and alleyways of Chicago during Prohibition, and we lived in a little house right next door to a speak-easy. I could peak through our curtains and see right into the bar next door when cops came in to get pai
|
131087
|
The musician’s wife had a roving eye. He didn't care. He liked being married to a wild and crazy woman.
|
131043
|
Man, this bearskin rug was a big, awkward sonofabitch on his back....
|
131040
|
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…
|
131031
|
With spring rain
And greening buds
|
131074
|
Last night was full of little fists
|
131041
|
... and that’s the story of the Polish worker who looks like van Gogh.
|
