1263 2 2
|
He showed me the knife, said it was his best friend. This knife is older than you, he said. Here, run your finger along its blade. Like this. He showed me how to do it.
|
126300
|
Mr. Skunk looked disdainfully at the window. “When the fuck do we get out of this place?” It was mostly rhetorical as the Skunks were all stuffed and inanimate.
|
126323
|
I hold dreams made of iron / that tip my spear of regret—
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126322
|
I whispered, “I love you”
and then, “Goodbye”
|
126330
|
There were more of us before, laying in a puddle cuddling on the floor with heads tucked into the crooks of arms where light scattered their crowns in the morning and no machine exists for me to use trying to find that morning again. Carl could go off the side of the…
|
126320
|
How many years has he dreamed he would be home again?
|
126352
|
I passed the old man from upstairs now and then, usually on Saturdays.
|
126331
|
|
126253
|
And there on the street
Were a bunch of frantic pigeons
Picking over some discarded
Chicken bones
I mean they were really
Going to town on them
You know, frantic
Like there was no tomorrow
And then I saw it
A real sign of progress
|
126200
|
Perhaps she’s also a do-gooder. One of those socially conscious, change-the-world type girls complete with a never ending supply of life’s own contagious enthusiasm.
|
126200
|
So, before he could brew with the crew, God decided to make one last trip to Earth, drawn by nostalgia and the prospect of watching a football World Cup from the stands. That is where He met Mini.
|
1262137
|
I find Vermeer and Bach and feel/
for a moment a shower of my own world’s/
prismatics.
|
126263
|
She became a murderer
in all the stages of her life
she could not seem to succeed
|
126200
|
|
126211
|
In this 7-Eleven at 2AM I can write the saddest lines. /
Among these malcontents and degenerates I am Ovid
|
126265
|
We write in darkness. We love
in alleys. We breathe into beige
paper bags. Anything to mollify
the confusion. Anything to simplify
the math.
|
126200
|
Avant-garde morning sun floated through bay windows, the illumination cascaded and curled and descended the air ripples which emanated from the oscillating fan in the corner. Gathered on the rug the light hovered in anxious intensity. Suspended dust- jelly was…
|
126264
|
There are no risks left to take. The notion of solitude hums with happiness. Bees gather particularly good honey and a hurricane stops suddenly, deciding not to embark on its natural terror hunt. And I just keep avoiding the knives, the pills and the…
|
126221
|
“Lassie was a hack,” Jim the Wonder Dog says as he looks out over fields of soybeans. “She couldn’t act her way out of a 25 pound bag of Purina Dog Chow."
|
126200
|
“Paroxysms, well, what in the hell’s a paroxysm?”
“I think the better question is what kind of name is Gentry, Gentry?”
“Yes, that’s a better question. Do you really want to know? I was named after my grandfather, Ol’ Gentry Jones Filips III. They
|
126232
|
It was May of my senior year in college. Everybody was coasting, knowing what they were going to be doing the next year, or that they’d be doing nothing. Except for one guy, Tom.
|
126255
|
I heard that Hollywood is remaking “Thelma and Louise” with Christina Ricci and that dark haired girl who worked on a show that plays on the television. I heard it either from the internet or from a dream. I thought about looking it up, but I don't…
|
126243
|
There is a dead factory. It sits on the tip of a small piece of land which extends into a forgotten lake, like a giant dirty-inked thumb pressed against a faded blue sheet of paper.
|
1262158
|
I'm standing on a toilet, trapped behind a stall. Watching Father U mop up the blood.
|
126140
|
We light cigarettes, take turns putting them out on each other's arms, legs, anywhere hard without a mark. It's living, he says, it's better to know you're alive than feel nothing at all. My brother is two years older than you, I was thinking on Tuesday,…
|
126100
|
My first Combat Mobile experience was as the only Specialist in an ATC ("air traffic control") assignment. The rest of the squad were simple grunts lead by the massive Sergeant James T. Adams, Regular Army, the ghost of the Central Highlands. Sgt. Adams m
|
126141
|
|
126100
|
each vertebra is a golden cavalier, brave in upright vigilance; stoic heroes.
|
126100
|
Most keep their eyes closed. Some look up at the cloud covering the kneeling ecclesiastical trash perched high. Others look around, overly warm.
|
126143
|
My accordion's name is Sophia and she is from Italy. She was born in fairytale fashion, the way my life in Madrid can sometimes be. A great and nurturing friend gathered money from many friends in our village, to buy me an accordion for my birthday. It was…
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