1282 12 0
|
Your son is six feet tall in the sixth grade. By his sophomore year of high school, he outweighs you by a hundred pounds. He's been offered four football scholarships and one for a sport he's never played. Every morning his mother, your ex ex-wife, makes his breakfast of a…
|
128200
|
When we crossed the California/Oregon border, I had this
vivid image of sleeping bags filled with human bones. I shook
my head and the scene would not go away. The woods must be
full of dead campers, hitch hikers, run-a-ways, and black
teenage whores
|
128287
|
The musician’s wife had a roving eye. He didn't care. He liked being married to a wild and crazy woman.
|
128286
|
I woke like an animal / breeding thoughts like flies
|
128284
|
He thought of it as magic, but magic that he understood, the way a magician knows about the hidden compartments in his hat and trunks.
|
128260
|
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…
|
128241
|
... and that’s the story of the Polish worker who looks like van Gogh.
|
128243
|
He began to chop the powdery substance and separate it into segments.
|
128200
|
It’s a compromising situation...
The would be Bride of Christ begins perspiring
before the crowd.
Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring echoes through the antique church
just one more time,
a little loud.
With every added verse and every flickering vigi
|
128240
|
Green hands
wave
in freezing water.
|
128133
|
His friend Boner, who was more accurately a friend of Milo, who was a friend of his cousin in Dubai and who had, up until this post, seemed to share thoughts in common with him, posted, “Holy Shit, Dude! What’re You On?”
|
128164
|
It's not stories the quiet lack, but inclination...
|
128100
|
“You've got to be kidding me. A robot?”, said Marge as she rotated in the chair at her desk. She removed the leaf of paper from the typewriter and set in down on the desk. She looked up at Parkins who was leaning against the wall nursing a cold cup of…
|
128165
|
|
128163
|
While most spread their time in other occupation, I traveled through books and grew my imagination. I knew endless bliss. I was a book eater. I would just devour books that I loved and slug through those I didn't, just to make myself eat the truths and li
|
128100
|
“I swear that man is a force of nature.” This was her mother's way of describing her father whenever her mother came too close to the precipice. While growing up, she could never allow herself to fully acknowledge the meaning behind her mother's…
|
128144
|
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.
|
128198
|
Walking down an unfamiliar street, / I heard a sudden caw of crows, / some thunder afar, strums of a lute— / a streetcar came flying along.
|
12812111
|
She connects to you
via snarling vines
& worm-woven tunnels.
Drops Roman numerals
|
128133
|
had I gotten home without knowing it? well . . .
|
128097
|
“I fly in my dreams,” his mother said. “It's my privilege.”
|
128033
|
We are both 53 and this is the first time I’ve gotten past a third date with anyone from Match. Seth is different. I’m not sure why. My therapist said, “Well, maybe you’ll be good for each other. You both have to accept that you are recovering, or in reco
|
128022
|
I have become a prisoner of my own fractured mind/ A paranoid weirdo behind the horizontal bars of window shades
|
128042
|
|
128042
|
The gated community of Dos was named for one of Babbage’s landmark educational figures, Ms. Dos.
|
128000
|
They've put down roots under the dome. Want to push through the ceiling, blot out the sun. I have other plans.
|
128021
|
I go with the wind, like the smoke of this Marlboro red as it dances among the palm trees.
|
128034
|
Dark morning sleet whitecrusts the world
once more, shrouds remains
of January thaw:
|
128031
|
The whole scene smells like paranoia.
|
128061
|
I remember one time that summer I was with you (1964) going to a bar in maybe it was Melrose Park, or Northlake, or somewhere along Roosevelt Road closer to Chicago, not as far as Cicero though. I went there with a crazy gear-head named Roger Hudson, wh
|
