1306 2 2
|
|
130633
|
First Fall in Love by Darryl PriceWhat the black lives matter peopleare saying is black lives matter, too.Just as much. What blue meanies aspeople are saying is blue mattersmore. I don't believe that and neithershould you. What the green lives matterpeople are saying is we…
|
130642
|
As the silence starts gashing I decide it's the moment to take all my thoughts for a walk; To a sound like a million lightbulbs shutting their fuses I resume my view, Across the sun-strobe streets with blind nightlamps; the safflower sun is lopped on its stalk …
|
130521
|
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
|
130520
|
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.
|
130555
|
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,
|
13051512
|
|
130597
|
communication/
with the dead
|
130511
|
There’s a room
Full of white
And it smells
Like bleach and
Iron
|
130598
|
we’ll never win/
the ongoing battle with dirt.
|
130510
|
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.
|
130500
|
His cheeks were extremely pink but the pink was not the shade usually associated with good health, it was the pink of Death.
|
130531
|
They’re coming now. Thousands of them. Black wings, antennas, spindly legs.
|
130554
|
and so I'm staying here where I am a little while (longer). Who knows where the time sleeps? I don't think I'll ever catch up with your heart again. That's the same lame novel approach I'm always stepping into to…
|
130565
|
|
130542
|
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
|
130510
|
Seems hot for a Thursday, doesn’t it?
|
130521
|
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.
|
130563
|
The moon was out. A bouncing ball but suspended. I shall never have a baby, she said. I am not prepared to go through that pain. Also, I for sure would not raise them up if I had them with religion, which is just so much superstition. I'll be a fellow this…
|
1305125
|
They talk but they don’t really / talk
|
130542
|
whatever weaknesses you displayed//
as empathetic human fellow traveler,/
your command of English survives you,//
on into the last echoes of the human/
once we’re gone.
|
13051312
|
|
130555
|
|
130421
|
lucy had simply taken a kitchen knife and removed the outer layer, the layer of things people notice
|
130400
|
It is not rough like most grappa, but smooth like good whisky. It removes all edges, freezes the tongue and erases the memory.
|
130443
|
Nature is perfect... We can never learn that much
|
130400
|
Her friend had been drunk, and sometimes after two or three quarts of beer, he'd tell people that he was Jewish.
|
130443
|
It leaves on a Saturday,suddenly, while you are raking leaves or taking out the trash.Those inevitable, boring things.You do not hear it go;it's been quiet before when it left certain rooms. It no longersleeps beside you, and you learnedlong ago that the bed was…
|
130442
|
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.
|
130453
|
The cats sniff at the small opening,/
one by one, in a furtive casualness./
They think the outside air is sweet
|
