1009 2 2
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A fat kid running;
the sounds of an ice-cream truck
—counterproductive.
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100900
|
Good kid. Awesome job in big cities. Travels a lot. Enjoys Martinis and G&T. She's a romantic. Spends her time online trolling people into submission. Likes softcore porn. Sets cats on fire. Collects stamps.
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100921
|
my eyes have seen many things over the course of my life to date; plenty is cherished, but too much has been monotonous, pedestrianmy hands, always striving, working, longing, trying for epic, eagermy lips would, if they could, be concerned exclusively with kissingmy …
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100901
|
On the street / The protesters stand / Yelling words empty as wind
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100910
|
They pumped him full of electricity and waited.
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100951
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Now that Spring has sprung I am reminded about the day a former neighbour complained about my squirrel collection. I love to feed the black squirrels that gather in my yard and she became convinced I had trained several ninja squirrels to enter her garden
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100943
|
The first time I ever held a gun, I was three years old...
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100977
|
i waited for the moon last night for hoursfell asleep with the record player on and dreamedof rain running downgutters of sea glass housesthe sun nudged me awakeand she served me toasthe's not serious,she saidhe's half baked,full of…
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100911
|
A Boston company has created a humanoid robot named “Baxter” that performs manufacturing tasks and gets a confused look on its face when it needs something.
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100911
|
We gig, we perform, we laugh, we cry, we play our guitars, bass, drums, voice.
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100920
|
During the night and in the fog of halfsleep Ben shifted and felt the weight of Miranda gone from him, the bed empty. In the quiet of the house he thought he heard a footstep and the soft shutting of a door, and as his eyes searched the dark he…
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100911
|
a wingover a dark sealooking up from what you're doingwhat you're not doinglooking upseeing what I don't seeor the same thingalteredwhen I was eightI cut my foot on a sea shellblood is red sea waterput a shell to your earyou'll hear your own bloodhowling in the night…
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100900
|
With a madman’s laugh, she realized her mistake and discarded it as irrelevant.
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100865
|
you are on a missing boat in the middle Of a fogged out notion of some sort. A no nonsense paddle could be made out Of something as intangible as an Incoming wave. This could also be a Floating thought up map, man. In…
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100810
|
I liked E first because she knew all the words to "Alice's Restaurant." Everybody knows "American Pie," but "Alice's," that's impressive. We used to cut class in high school and drive around listening to it, and I'd try to pretend I knew the words, but I never did, so…
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100863
|
We were born here. At the top of the stairs underneath a painting of basset hounds playing croquet. And a hallway closet filled with lost someones. And the police, three times a week, singing nursery rhymes while walking up to our door.
|
100811
|
It must be some sort of Freudian twist, but as her cold fingertips draw rings on my navel, I think of my mother. Here, her body watches my tongue, asking my lips to curl into the letters of her name. I can't get erect. I remember my mother's face—her eyes almost…
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1008128
|
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
|
100832
|
Palinode: A poem written to retract something said in a prior poem.
|
100822
|
When daybreak comes, it falls a pall pást mé, For it descends too soon for woken sight to see A shade of any gladness in its dew's first blisters: All my dreams of daylight are in darkling whispers Of…
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100832
|
I’m sorry. We couldn’t fix the country
and left her a bigger mess than we found her
Oil leaking from her shores
earthquake batter all over her skin
We couldn’t fix her, and we’re sorry
You’ll find her wreck in tatters
at the bus st
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100842
|
Most of the deer around here have a higher IQ than the hunters.
|
1008117
|
They might think that loneliness has made me gullible, more than willing to open for them all kinds of drawers.
|
100821
|
The rhythm of my breathing
is a litany of regret.
|
100861
|
I remember one time that summer I was with you (1964) going to a bar in maybe it was Melrose Park, or Northlake, or somewhere along Roosevelt Road closer to Chicago, not as far as Cicero though. I went there with a crazy gear-head named Roger Hudson, wh
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100896
|
my love for you/ is like the falling snow
|
100800
|
You know what happened. You heard about it. We were considered unuseful to the Nazis and were gassed in those shower rooms. It was all over so quick; I had hardly a chance to understand. I really did not feel anything because before it was over, I, being
|
100830
|
There was something about the boy that made me uneasy. Maybe it was the reverse widow's peak on his forehead or the way he wiped away his snot with the back of his hand. It could have been his red flannel shirt that reminded me of the hillbillies from the mountain…
|
100800
|
It was the woman, Mary Lou Compton, that he cared about. They would've been happily married by now if Bryce hadn't killed his Uncle Ned.
|
100800
|
“You know, Miss Viv, I love looking at the sun when it’s almost gone. It kinda looks like an orange and apple squished together. Those are the colors. And the puffy clouds under it look like a bed. It’s going to sleep."
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