1299 17 9
|
he considers the swirl of galaxies/
with their black hole hearts,
|
129953
|
while the fat stars stand out in the cobalt night.
|
129931
|
The phone rang again at midnight. Maury sat straight up in bed, a reflex from his days in the barracks. Linda, his wife, was already sitting up. In the hint of moonlight, she dabbed her nose with a wadded tissue and made helpless little noises. Maury…
|
129955
|
|
129842
|
A daydreams about a woman whose name he’s forgotten next to B, who’s been drunk since afternoon.
|
129821
|
lucy had simply taken a kitchen knife and removed the outer layer, the layer of things people notice
|
129887
|
arrogant, sullen,/
supple and ambiguous,//
English seems the ideal tongue
|
129810
|
Then there she is, and she makes me love-sad; it's a vehement, absolute, hard love-sad no one else needs to understand, though they can see; it's an emotion so concrete it's felt from the chest, not from a tenuous concept called heart.
|
129862
|
One of his operas was confiscated when he couldn’t pay a hotel bill. He ended up in a mental home, demented from syphilis.
|
129842
|
Outbreaks of mass communal dancing—sometimes referred to as “choreomania”—occurred in Europe with some frequency in Europe between the 14th and the 18th centuries.
|
129800
|
They've put down roots under the dome. Want to push through the ceiling, blot out the sun. I have other plans.
|
129833
|
how enthralled might you be, or how much appalled,/plucked from a fresh dream that had just grown serene?
|
129863
|
When nothing's coming in All I have are fragments Cloudy memories Uncompleted projects Disappointments loom large and threaten to define me I am only as good as what I produce And now I feel empty So how do I shine How do I find the spark that…
|
129820
|
The possum is sneering with truth. I can smell the blood under his fingernails. He has seen it all, the backwoods distilleries and the back porch propane grilles. He has slept under the beds of whores and kings alike.
|
129875
|
it acquires a fine translucence
|
129800
|
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
|
129800
|
Reverend Peter Roman could stand it no more. He stopped his speech. He felt a fire burning through him, a hatred for humanity and all the weaknesses of beings not perfect before God. He stood a long while, staring at the congregation. Then, he slowly spok
|
129800
|
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…
|
129721
|
Butter me up, moon lover. Remember, I was once your warm and hot goddess of flowers, washed to shore with the others you may have forgotten. Now the issue of the earth gets nearer, and we can see each other once again, if only in our dreams.
Just be
|
129786
|
That is a six-word story. Notice that the meaning does not change with the word count. Syllabic count: pentameter (ten). Keep these commas.
|
129700
|
It is not rough like most grappa, but smooth like good whisky. It removes all edges, freezes the tongue and erases the memory.
|
129745
|
She arranged to have an abortion at a doctor Greene’s office, who practiced out of a converted house on Solano Avenue on the north side of Berkeley. I took her there the day of the procedure. You couldn’t go to a regular hospital to have this kind of thi
|
129720
|
By the time she reached home, dinner would be there in thirty minutes, on the table. Not a lively table, just politeness, and calm. There were no issues of the day that needed discussing, no problems to be solved.
|
129755
|
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,
|
12971512
|
|
129711
|
What I'm going to do is grab this eight-year-old fellow down the block, and declare him a candidate for this Presidential campaign. I'll be his campaign manager, and our whole message will be based on the First Streetlight platform. It's old school but very…
|
129753
|
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
|
129765
|
|
129722
|
|
129700
|
Ben was stuck between sweet essences and rancid Talmudic funk. It was going to be a long trip.
|
