94900
|
Loving himself. Loved by no one. Loving no one.
|
94900
|
they'd turned into humans overnight
|
94982
|
7.53Another morning ritual. Trying to fill the loose ends of time in the early morning is a task.7.54I've done about everything, too early to work and too late to go back to sleep. 7.55Trying to avoid the nausea of life at all cost. My mind is a snakepit, filled with…
|
94910
|
|
948126
|
Crouching like little children in a game of hide & seek, we entered the old house, slowly
|
94861
|
A Satire We are the Social Justice soldiers, we parrot platitudes and lies, And expect you all to worship the same things we idolise. We ignore Islamic extremism and domestic terrorism too, Because we are Cultural Relativists whose brains are up our…
|
94800
|
Detective-Sergeant Claude Mulvihill sat in his squad car, which was parked on 54th Street in front of Bright Star Recording Studios. He had just finished the second of two jelly donuts and was spiking his coffee with three packets of sugar.
|
94822
|
In the small towns of central and southern Illinois there lives a very indecent sort of man.
|
94800
|
We at Cahiers must continually ask–is le cinema de kung fu pimping really, truly—as bad as it wanna be?
|
94820
|
"GROW A PAIR AND DRIVE! DRIVE!!"
|
94820
|
felt as if someone had pulled me in by the belt, or grabbed me by a knot in the hair, and kissed me with fire-engine lips. I was happy. I was in love.
|
94841
|
I heard you singing in the bedrooms with me. The down I was fond of, down of your cheek, your thighs light blonde in the light. Out of the dark, sweet bay, were you like a shining rock, shining white, undulating, a thing of heat. I remember you, yes!
|
94810
|
Lupe drove. She didn't know where she was going, but still she drove. The Mustang whined because she did not shift gears. The street was wet from a night rain and if…
|
94863
|
We call it the alley of the shadows, the low sunless concavity of earth between the stalks, the acrid scent of the ripened arrow-points.
|
94886
|
The drop is like a hangman's drop, an executioner's, but farther and longer, perhaps three or four seconds.
|
94842
|
Yellows and reds shed
warp and weft
bobbins of color
spooling...
|
94854
|
I have constructed this emotion with tinfoil and stilts. I wear the mask of a typewriter. I have roots in Minnesota. I have a glass hat and a junkyard monstrosity pregnant with parables.
|
94831
|
|
94898
|
It renders the inner ears inoperative-/
Music that once reverberated inside
/
the brain-hut concert hall squeaks
|
94855
|
In my 14 to 15 year old life in the late 50s I worked as a clean-up boy in the neighborhood butcher shop up on 5th. Ave.,
|
94700
|
stoplight - (haiku love series - #2)
eyes lock in a gaze
glimpses of my future spark
then you walk away
|
94755
|
The huge mudball has rolled downhill, catching up
one of them. Part of a leg sticking up from the surface
with its shoe still on, but we can assume the rest of
the human, or humanity if you will, is lost somewhere
deep inside it.
|
94720
|
"I need a male friend, and I think I've found one."
|
94722
|
Jack and Jane went up the hill.Give us a drink, said Jack. Here go, said Jane. They watched a bit of the city below, the city that was lit up by soft electrical lights. What say tonight Jane? Why so quiet? Many spirits are out Jack. They are all around. …
|
94720
|
Meanwhile stars continue to surprise...
|
94722
|
A fat kid running;
the sounds of an ice-cream truck
—counterproductive.
|
94711
|
The clouds cried more than silver tears,
this time.
|
94750
|
When I got word from Mary Jo, she warned me that Mitchell Parkman was out looking for me with a butcher knife. I knew immediately what I had to do. I packed up my things and sold the Pepsi van and moved up to a room on Regent Street in Berkeley, all the w
|
947128
|
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
|
94721
|
Allow me one moment of stasis from pain, If I must really become that one, Who brought by giant hand man's gain, And suffered through theft of the sun. No dagger pricks the injured side, Or vulture picks the source of bile: Still must wan hordes…
|