1043 2 2
|
I whispered, “I love you”
and then, “Goodbye”
|
104331
|
I know you through the rich dark brown soilcrumbling in my fingers like chocolate cake.I imagine you nurtured bell-shaped papayas,coaxing their smooth, leathery skinfrom green to yellow,while mangoes, the colors of the island sunset,hung with their tantalizing sweet…
|
104365
|
we were all meant to do with our love? What I can think of is to ask the question again. I suppose there are others more willing to supply you with a proper answer, but none seem real to me. These words are only stones,meant to skip across the…
|
1043146
|
Dead drunks sing Christmas/
songs-
|
104376
|
You look at me with that contemptuous smirk while I'm here in Walmart dressed in sweats and house slippers, sloppy, a bit fat, trying to figure out which electric toothbrush to buy.
|
104344
|
I may have gone
A little soft in the brain
But I swear I still see it
The angel closes the rain
Even God has to refrain
From causing us pain
When the angel closes the rain
So the angel closes the rain
At the end of time
The angel mus
|
104355
|
Years later Polyphemus still remembers the wine-soaked taste of Odysseus’s men. The barley and garlic-flavored Greeks. Their flesh a fibrous, blood-hued hummus. Their crunched bones releasing sweet marrow.
|
104363
|
I signed up for functional
I did not ask for this mixed bag
of broken glass
I have enough to swallow
|
104375
|
His house incubates memories. As he sleeps, they hatch.His house is neither here nor there. It occupies a space between watchfulness and insomnia. Grey birds nest on its roof.His house is a refuge from everything except himself. The floor, walls, roof are fat with him.…
|
104397
|
perhaps I am only being transported not for replacement but for repair
|
104284
|
|
104253
|
You are nothing but a generic white man with average looks and intelligence, trapped in an indie romantic comedy. You sit in your overstuffed coffeeshop chair, drinking an impossibly befoamed cappuccino, the sleeves of your flannel rolled up to your elbows, mellow synth…
|
1042102
|
...cinched the handcuffs.
|
104200
|
Mayumi flicked her hand, making her circle deflect the spell. She picked up speed and her hand grabbed Emi.
|
104210
|
at the front of the bus/ sways a white-veiled woman:/ gnarled hands upon/ a bag of palms,
|
104231
|
That's my memory, kept and clutched as with a sixth sense, that it was a prim Oriental afternoon, with the pink streaks in the sky going God-knows-where down across the park, but very far away. Ghostly, melancholy travellers. Birds met and crashed headlong somewhere up…
|
104200
|
Let us talk granola
and improvising
on the margins of
munchies and breakfast.
|
104220
|
As we follow the trail and things snap beneath our feet, I tell myself that the snapped things take pleasure, find purpose even, in the sounds they make with my soles.
|
104274
|
Near dusk today a car backfired on the street beneath my office window
|
104212
|
I was setting up a mattress and a lamp in the balcony of my house because a boy, G., told me he was coming to fuck me.
|
104252
|
“Don’t you think you should tie a tourniquet or something?” she asked as I bled profusely from the points where Jesus was wounded during his crucifixion.
|
104233
|
This world is always at least as strange as it seems, but usually far more strange, so many non-repeatable phenomena . . . .
|
104200
|
They had a vague idea of how lips were to be used. Lips that parted feverishly, lips that burned. Lips - old, but still amateur. It was no wonder, considering that 'boys from good families' would never dream of even looking at a woman, let alone kiss her!
|
104222
|
At the Winslow Funeral Home in Winslow, Arizona, just like in the Eagles’ 70s song “Take It Easy,” only I’m not taking it easy.
|
104211
|
That night Magdalene dreamt about Jesus.
|
104244
|
We'll all face the raging river, some sooner than others.
|
1042103
|
I sit there reading a magazine while the woman clips my claws. From time to time I watch Kim’s face.
|
104230
|
On his knees in front of the transplant board, he pleaded for his ailing heart, spluttering on its last dying beats, to be replaced with a bomb.
|
104131
|
The waitress appears and Fred gives her a big smile and th3 once over. It's no wonder he's had so many women in his life while I've . . . uh . . . read a lot of books.
|
104111
|
1. Poor grammar does not sleep. 2. We'll never finish every idea we have. 3. No matter how hard you try, you still might make it into my book
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