1398 5 4
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What the hell is going on out here!? Yelled the man with the shotgun
|
1398125
|
They talk but they don’t really / talk
|
139821
|
I have never known how gold this time of year, With its palladium arcade, was, of the trees That do not sense the pleasure of their silence; Trees are egalitarian, they do not speak But concourse among themselves, consent to join us At this moment breathing…
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139855
|
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139765
|
A nuclear-plant fuel rod engineer, Dimitri Kastrotov, had an axe to grind, so invented an atomic deterrent, to counterbalance mankind. He targeted the filthy rich, greedy sons of a bitch, breeding war, weapons and nukes at a reckless fever pitch After …
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139721
|
Love is easy. Lazy. Fickle.
|
139710
|
at the front of the bus/ sways a white-veiled woman:/ gnarled hands upon/ a bag of palms,
|
139764
|
My supper consisted of no cheese
My marriage consisted of no violin
|
139743
|
destroy the day
rip up the track
jump in the water
eat nothing but bugs
|
139710
|
|
139721
|
I tell him if he wants to impress a girl he should learn to cook. He shifts his body. I add, crab cakes work well.
|
139753
|
we can’t hear the hum/
and the heat is imperceptible.
|
139777
|
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…
|
139761
|
I am surprised that you’re not famous already. I remember sitting in your bedroom for hours just watching you while you wrote poetry. I was in awe of you, thinking you were going to be the next Dylan Thomas! Or Bob Dylan. Or Dylan Somebody! And I rememb
|
139743
|
I told about the time during the early part of WW II when I shook hands with a member of the Flying Tigers. He was home on leave, and he stopped by to see my dad, who had been his scout master.
|
139700
|
I. The cowboy of my heart rides high in the saddle. Behind him, the long tail of his speeding palomino, golden — like the hair to the girls I was later to want so desperately — stands straight out from his sweating, muscular haunches. It's time.…
|
139744
|
I’m up to my kneecaps
in mockery and swill, and …
Excuse Me,
I’m Writing a Poem here?
Thank you. Sheesh!
As I was saying,
I’m up to my kneecaps in mockery and swill.
And I meet someone who
names all his fish after
people he doesn’t l
|
139600
|
Creatures of the dark don’t follow daylight savings
|
139631
|
When Beez and I were visiting D.C., Beez saw MDW after many years and said, almost so that MDW could hear him if he wished, “His hair looks like Beethoven’s.”
|
139685
|
The thrum and the thrust//
have beaten conviviality out of me.
|
1396125
|
My dish was slut ("all done" in Swedish). It tasted good though aroused no draft, of mutton, for example. My grandparents' bed held flat. I filed alone, in realist kitchen, reading Froeding, standing, striding, continent as gym.
|
139620
|
When he got to the office, he opened the drawer with the new can of fish food and realized he’d forgotten to buy a fish tank. He hated fish, hated the thought of a “hobby” but his girlfriend’s therapist had suggested it. Hobbied, hobbled, whatever
|
139600
|
He started to concentrate on the music again. It was the album with the crazy picture of Monk on the cover, with a machine gun over his shoulder, a tied-up Gestapo officer and a female resistance fighter standing next to—a cow.
|
139642
|
I was sitting there drinking with Paul at the bar, and it was a Friday night and I was I was feelin good. I didn't have to go to work in the morning, and I had a few drinks and food in me, and I able to that on da cheap, which felt good. And Paul…
|
139643
|
See the hair
Know the hair
Remove the hair
|
139611
|
1
Al Capone was ruling the backstreets and alleyways of Chicago during Prohibition, and we lived in a little house right next door to a speak-easy. I could peak through our curtains and see right into the bar next door when cops came in to get pai
|
139653
|
The cats sniff at the small opening,/
one by one, in a furtive casualness./
They think the outside air is sweet
|
139665
|
Clasped his hands behind his head to give a moment’s thought to love and how it had never quite clarified in his mind to run pure and sweet.
|
139600
|
Who remains after the aching night has departed into dawn
and left us to week-old sleep
|
1396128
|
He switched off the light. His wife was breathing softly. At her bedside he told her of her friends the roses, of the pretty carnation brooch he had pinned on her silk scarf, of her coquettish hat which fitted her so well. Small, simple and bright memories the heavy night…
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