1335 2 2
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Often I want to kiss their lips
Drink in every word they have written
|
133544
|
in moving cars i am small;
in moving cars i am invisible.
|
1335102
|
she lays there
wrapped in his baseball sheets
|
133510
|
Me leaving is not the confirmation of all your fears. It is not. It's because of them.
|
133522
|
we hover black as carrion birds with a glut empty need seems to me she's fell as thee and knows exactly where we posture anxiously spitting falsehoods on cue twittering like snipes cause there's nothing left to do she might have spent her whole life just
|
133521
|
Tonight’s concert was called Desert.
|
133597
|
I COULD always sleep. Go "home" now and sleep. My body and my fetus—who complain of this torture—would appreciate sleep. I have something to do that is not sleep. I have something to do that is not sleep. I have to try to wake.
|
133400
|
Detective-Sergeant Claude Mulvihill sat in his squad car, which was parked on 54th Street in front of Bright Star Recording Studios. He had just finished the second of two jelly donuts and was spiking his coffee with three packets of sugar.
|
133423
|
I, Seer of the Stars, Cartographer of the Cosmos, / measure my mass, and to whom do I owe this woe...
|
133441
|
This time is different. The dream doesn’t continue with endless walking.
|
133431
|
There is something preposterous /
about existing in a universe so vast: /
Such a big playground for such tiny children, /
|
133422
|
I keep the book when the lessons are done, go through the pages Momma skipped over...
|
133454
|
I suspect I’ll make the right decision.
|
133440
|
We all wish to partake in great events.
|
133441
|
We call this game the end of the world...
|
133443
|
the ones that have seen
the other seasons,
let them set up the track
|
133400
|
“Honorable condominium association members,” the leader begins. “I apologize for not having a PowerPoint slide show tonight, but me and my muchachos travel light.”
|
133353
|
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
|
133322
|
There it was
One abandoned high heel shoe on the sidewalk
Could have been
Some kind of robbery
Though
Maybe it was just
The beginning of the
Walk of shame
|
133374
|
—A little blood puts some life into the work, said the old artisan smiling.
|
133322
|
The son stood on the porch with his grip packed. "I'm off to mine me a fortune a gold, Daddy." "Boy, there's a fortune in gold right here," said the father, indicating the ripe wheat, glowing in early morning sun. The kid slumped. "Pop, you turn over a rock there,…
|
133322
|
Defenestration - the act of throwing someone out of a window.
I went to Prague recently to visit my family’s castle, which is called Krivoklat. I’m not even going to attempt to explain to you how to pronounce that. It’s outside Prague, about an hour t
|
133300
|
After all, if she could get through World War II with no more than a couple of letters and numbers on her arm, she could, sure as hell, get through this.
|
133300
|
He met her at midnight just off the plane and they sized each other with silent growing awareness that no matter what might transpire in distant tomorrows, each served here now as passports to magic and lands far away. On the…
|
133333
|
This world is always at least as strange as it seems, but usually far more strange, so many non-repeatable phenomena . . . .
|
133321
|
A meaningful conversation Subdued the huge Toys “R” Us question mark Standing sun-bleached and sprinkler-dirtied In our flowerbed On the patio Explode your fanny pack, A clinking most dangerous The Mysterious: Its …
|
13332918
|
It was in the last expulsion/explosion (theories differ) that we became OneWith. Tsunami. Seism. Zud. All matter cast out outcast came back like a gangster on crack. What did it think it was? Who do we think we are? It thinks we think it thinks…
|
133220
|
A minute later, a shadow appeared across the left-hand page of the book.
|
133221
|
There’s an account of roasting inward, holding myself like a rock inflamed, my inward joy rotting my veins. How was I supposed to go on loving anything after you? Like a pigeon hated at home, awaiting your passionate kisses? Knowing how your classical k
|
133252
|
Fingers scrabble idly at pocket seams, forage between teeth, grasp for tepid cups, patter a drumbeat on knees.
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