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But you're everywhere, how can I move on? It's so easy for people to say, Get over it, the ‘it' being the smell of your skin, your smile, the taste of your lips, always sweet and salty, like a carnival treat. Remember that neon night when we knew it was over, how we…
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I'm the first child she ever knew that couldn't sing.
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last night a girl came
to me in the shape
of my suicide.
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I know you probably don’t want to hear any more of this nudist stuff about my family and all, but this Reamer guy was a red-faced German boozehound if there ever was one. He married my brother’s ex-wife Beryl, after Harris left her to her cheap red jug wi
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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,…
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I like violence /
because they refused to pay at attention to me /
as a child.
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Mother hated a crucifix. Graven, she said. Evidence that Catholics weren't saved, just stuck in ceremony. Jesus had risen and anyone who had to pray in Latin, count beads or confess to robed men who took orders from a monarch didn't know…
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full of mad hope / we dash into the street / leap into the fray / and enter splendiferous lists
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That is a six-word story. Notice that the meaning does not change with the word count. Syllabic count: pentameter (ten). Keep these commas.
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Get a Hold of God
Get a hold of God, will you?
I have seen a lot
I saw
a Great Dane
licking the dew off
an orange bird of
paradise
Get a hold of God
and tell him that
Get a hold of God
and give him a piece of
my m
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years later ghosts enter. . . .
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Welcome back to our ongoing coverage of what we mean when we say "Tsunami: A Very Bad Thing."
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1. They Don't Know When To Fold 'Em Gambling junkies are lit on losing their ass and almost can't wait to unload their money, and then reel on home and bounce off the walls or whatever. For these guys, losing's the jackpot, and deep in the hole for…
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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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She is walking to the café to meet her friend. Her friend is there already because she walked from where was getting her haircut. Her friend sent her a text message that said, “OMW” for…
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Welcome to the world of (un)reality television. He/she who dies with the most stories wins. Another kind of religion. The Church of Being Famous For Whatever.
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Originally published on Six Sentences:He walked out of the hotel lobby into the pre-dawn night and thought about another woman, a pretty Spanish woman, not the woman he'd just kissed in a hotel, and a night he'd spent with her in Portugal, wanting each other desperately,…
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Threads of sadness in the hands, in the touch
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Sometimes the dirt just stays dirt
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I signed up for functional
I did not ask for this mixed bag
of broken glass
I have enough to swallow
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These fern-like weeds grow along the roads. “Watch this,” you say, bending down over a plant. The touch of your fingertip sets it recoiling, stunned–a fun, jungle trick you picked up somewhere along your way.
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Every night she waited for that magical hour when her breath was quick and her heart was loud rushing in her ears 8:04 or sometime 8:20 either way she knew the voice she would hear of her beloved was coming any minute now and so she was…
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All I ask is that the guy has teeth and an income. More important are the teeth because he can always get a job, but he can’t un-rot the teeth he’s lost to meth.
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This tanka poem was inspired by news report that the Macy's of "Miracle on 34th Street" fame has a white Santa in front and a black Santa in back.
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until i french kiss every atmosphere
my mouth ready to explode
like roman candles
sparking my fingers sparking off the tips
of my sparking fingers
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in the pink distance / a boy in a corduroy shirt / sits before an upended electrical spindle / and drinks a vodka gimlet
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Daylight and cold sensed as an abstract, a number in my mind. Air thin, polluted, lacking oxygen. But the Recyclers are at it again.
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It was almost like I was dreaming, he is saying, my visit to the ruins of the factory that made the first Narrative Machines.
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My first time alone with the women in Saudi Arabia...
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Famus Peepul Ellen and her boy, Larson, were on the second floor of The Monsters restaurant, searching for the fortuneteller. Larson had decided her signature was a necessary addition to his autograph book. He hadn't asked for her autograph…
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