1382 12 6
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138160
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The arid paramour,
your breath is hot, dry, cedar.
I sweat you corpus fluids and salt
and the unnamably impure.
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138194
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My time glass allocation nears its end.
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138186
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Now the house is empty of romance except a potted flowering plant from my mother for Valentine's Day. No man has set foot in my museum since I moved here. One man has set foot. The owner's brother to see about the gasket under the toilet. The Comcast installers, twice. The…
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138141
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CALENTURE The horizon is marked with the still sculptures of dead gulls; A young man floats off slowly on the…
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138195
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138152
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Someone desperately dials a number.
Iris, draped tight.
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138163
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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…
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138177
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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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138100
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“Now, “Pour Some Sugar on Me” is a hit of the eighties.”
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138132
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I guess it was, you know, a daze thing: He, lightly drunk, turning red in parts of his head, in his cheeks mostly, and his chest, to which my eyes were drawn because of his v-neck douchebag shirt; and I, sleepy beyond belief, sustained like a zombie only
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138144
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Poems reflect their poets. /
Mine: ugly but loved. /
It is just as well.
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138164
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You have at least
an intermittent belief.
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138153
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while the fat stars stand out in the cobalt night.
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138192
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i think god composed afternoons with crayons
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138041
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His only sibling had passed a few years back and his mother was the only one left of a gaggle of 7 brothers and sisters and their spouses. The turning of the generations, from birth to grave, was always a bit like the tilling of the ancestral soil. A new
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138097
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“I fly in my dreams,” his mother said. “It's my privilege.”
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138053
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He slathered the glue on my scalp and talked non-stop about Harlem. Electrodes or nodes, I never asked which, would measure something inside my head. I doubt they actually did though, measure anything. I've had the pleasure of having wires glued to my skull before and have…
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138054
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for that is righteousness / that to everyone be allowed his own choice
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138000
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His cheeks were extremely pink but the pink was not the shade usually associated with good health, it was the pink of Death.
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138072
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The bus was almost empty, just me and an Asian girl who'd cleaned up some since I'd seen her. She was wearing a too-big T-shirt that said Freakuccino and writing in a notebook. If she remembered me she didn't say so I didn't either. Everybody sheds some…
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138076
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bullets in flight make sharp, snapping noises.
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138055
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before five/glancing down Academy Street/sloping west to where the tracks crossed/twisted tangled metal on wheels.
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138011
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“Okay,” Boris said, wiping his mouth, “ready to go see these paintings by Lenin? We go now.”
“Where are these paintings exactly?” Ellen of Troy (NY) asked. I didn’t mention which Troy she was from.
“I have friend in Prague,” Vladimir said. “Has sh
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138095
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The pen point sits motionless on the paper...
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1380128
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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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138041
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Some corners of the world seem to be consigned to an eternal hell of never-ending strife. The Middle East; Northern Ireland; the faculty lounge at Oxford University.
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138011
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To The Graduates Of The Class Of 2010:
You are here today at a critical crossroads of your life. For most of your 22 years you’ve been taught to work hard, obey the rules, listen with respect to your elders and to trust that every effort you make wil
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138061
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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
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138043
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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.
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