1331 7 5
|
it acquires a fine translucence
|
133174
|
Last night was full of little fists
|
133100
|
It must have been then and in those days and during that time when the grass and short brush, like so much amber and jade, emerged from the snow and the poet Li Po, who while traveling within the ten thousand crags of the Tanggula Mountains, looked up…
|
133100
|
Lulls, and the gulls, amid the tides and their tears (And I join their voices and my heart is run), Though each or neither takes no part in my fears, I join no hands with the beach or the years (And the ships slip near plus yon). Held handfast,…
|
133153
|
while the fat stars stand out in the cobalt night.
|
133120
|
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.
|
133121
|
There’s something Dad’s been telling us
that I don’t think is true
|
133000
|
“A lot of kids–granted, kids who aren’t too bright–will choose a school because of its mascot, and that’s what Chipper is all about,” he says.
|
133011
|
I have a fascination with Dickens and London and this was inspired by my next novel.
|
133021
|
“Good to see you, old man,” Greg said. He was like that, an investment banker, a latter-day Tom Buchanan without the polo ponies, self-consciously fusty.
|
133095
|
|
133033
|
how enthralled might you be, or how much appalled,/plucked from a fresh dream that had just grown serene?
|
133031
|
. . . why did it take so long?
|
133064
|
You have at least
an intermittent belief.
|
133095
|
Do you see the hot coals of doing? The way time sizzles or wilts…eat those coals.
|
133084
|
He stood with the bride of quietness / on the precipice of questions
|
133022
|
mind heart soul will blood sweat tears muscle, and bone,/and then always something else—not more, just else . . .
|
133030
|
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.
|
133075
|
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.…
|
132986
|
That is a six-word story. Notice that the meaning does not change with the word count. Syllabic count: pentameter (ten). Keep these commas.
|
132910
|
at the front of the bus/ sways a white-veiled woman:/ gnarled hands upon/ a bag of palms,
|
132955
|
They’re young and haughty.
27’s still a long ways off.
They read about the famous,
not the dead.
Dusty dragonflies will not
land upon them,
and they are really only in love
with the dishwasher.
Now there’s a problem.
Poetry is dead,
|
132975
|
Whatever you have,/
we can monetize it
|
132962
|
One of his operas was confiscated when he couldn’t pay a hotel bill. He ended up in a mental home, demented from syphilis.
|
1329138
|
I took a left, it's less safe
|
132932
|
Over the last years of her life, my mornings began when Mom decided to play. Sitting on her black, ball-and-claw stool, she'd raise the key cover, stretch her neck and shoulders, and take slow, deliberate breaths. A deep, meditative state descended over the room and…
|
132922
|
|
132953
|
you knew the lightbent it in your favorleapt confidentlyacross heartscheeks and shouldersrouged chromaticincandescent pretendingperhaps the dark had no claimover your lonely clumsy soul© 2013 - Rene
|
132900
|
“Now, “Pour Some Sugar on Me” is a hit of the eighties.”
|
132921
|
Dawn is a grey mass, what is left of the night's chill slips between my t-shirt and belly skin. Somewhere else you once wrote that being loved when you don't love in return equals rape.
|
