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at the front of the bus/ sways a white-veiled woman:/ gnarled hands upon/ a bag of palms,
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112200
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-Someone could have boosted this easy as pie, Ben said to himself.
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112231
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When Beez and I were visiting D.C., Beez saw MDW after many years and said, almost so that MDW could hear him if he wished, “His hair looks like Beethoven’s.”
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112265
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We write in darkness. We love
in alleys. We breathe into beige
paper bags. Anything to mollify
the confusion. Anything to simplify
the math.
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112210
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d anon., I've Had Trouble "Loosening Up." I've got to keep my pump primed, don't I?
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the tall, thin ectomorph sat
on the verdant, green grass
as the unclothed naked woman
on the Sunday-picnic blanket
poured white cow’s milk
into a vodka shot glass
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112243
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The blooms are practical/
and cannot see themselves
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112222
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Too young to stay interested for long in the words I was reading. My father said the man was very intelligent and most of his writing was hard to understand.
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112275
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From this fundamental simplicity,/
houses, cities, regions./
A nebula stretches across the grid.
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112242
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In the end they talked a lot, shared what they could, both seemingly trying to rekindle something that was no longer hot, and yet they could not let go of each other. Year after year would prove that. Right then, just then, it seemed that the physical par
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112200
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"It all began with a painting," I said. "Mostly blue. Acrylic. Naturalistic in a modern sense. She was stylized but recognizable, and her breasts were exposed. Everyone could see her disordered skirt. The painter was a fan of Herrick.
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1122157
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Cacophony of an engine-braking eighteen-wheeler/
scatters the crows to fences, trees and wires/
in a startling chant of caw, caw, caw.
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112240
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We all wish to partake in great events.
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112297
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If they are all speaking medicine & I / start speaking French - how / rude am I? Would they understand then / what it is to be entirely left out / of the conversation, unseen?
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112200
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A young officer approached the lawn where Shane was picketing with friends. All from middle-class neighborhoods, none considered "troubled," they were beginning to learn that obeying the law wasn't always enough . . .
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112211
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I survived as a brave thought,
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112153
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—Mr. Martinelli, can you explain how you developed your painting technique?
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112130
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A kind of sucking darkness into
A kind of noir celebration of despair
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112166
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They shoot up through the soles of their feet
once the veins in their arms are all used up.
They shoot up in their necks
like the cows on the African Savannah
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112121
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Apocalyptica 1. the portent holds you while you try for solace in the bath anticipating the opened mouth the one that cannot close after and there is a knotting inside of joints and threads poised so delicately in the waiting …
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112111
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1Paradise Lost is cast into the lake of fire. Satan tells John Milton to rewrite it in 140 characters or fewer.2Filippo Marinetti languishes in a dismal rural idyll. His hand, possessed, scrawls euphonic odes to the moon with a quill.3Henri Michaux floats through the…
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112133
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I’m well aware of the shadow stalking just to my left, her mannish voice flirting with my sensibilities.
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112133
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J., W., and W.’s girlfriend were exploring the nature and mores of homosexual conduct by discussing whether W. would be willing to suck J.’s cock.
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112110
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There's one graveyard for the part-timers and another for the full-timers. Ours is a little nicer, but we're still all going to hell. Do you remember St. Petersburg? No, you're memory's not that good.
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112140
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“Help me,” the man said in his mind. He lay beside the folding camp stool alone in the middle of the woods, in the clearing where he and the dog always rested.
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112100
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He and Nick got a long very well, and would speak about things for hours until the morning came; and Betsy would supply them with food and coffee, and clever sayings all the while Johnny watched it all over. Tonight though, they had watched La Rafle, and
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112163
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Sorrow fences with fear and questions
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112142
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Yellows and reds shed
warp and weft
bobbins of color
spooling...
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112010
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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
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