1353 7 5
|
Just a lot of honking and hissing.
|
135354
|
I loved her when she first came calling in the sodden dawn of spring. She was a strange and dangerous flower. Together we drank up all the money. The days staggered away like drunks lurching down a flophouse hall.
|
135321
|
It was that awkward time when one didn’t know if the night’s lover wanted to see you again.
|
135322
|
I whispered, “I love you”
and then, “Goodbye”
|
135330
|
Thérèse Defarge felt the first drop around ten.
|
135300
|
That was nearly two years and a thousand smiles ago.
|
1353102
|
she lays there
wrapped in his baseball sheets
|
135363
|
We have become//
the sum of our appetites,/
the growth curve of our dominion.
|
135210
|
They say that air traffic control is stressful work and I guess it is for some people. It did require a lot of concentration but that never bothered me much. I could keep the position, bearing and altitude of a couple of dozen aircraft in my head without
|
135232
|
His thoughts drifted to when he was a kid, to the monthly trip to the barber.
|
135200
|
Slowly, she eased me
into my place
where I melted
into the dark seat
|
135211
|
There is a false dawn,
when night still holds sway, but tempered with promise; anticipation.
|
135200
|
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.
|
135200
|
I ran down the list of reasons she might be calling. She could be bankrupt, having a mid-life crisis, or maybe had a terminal illness. Either way I was clueless, as I had absolutely no emotional bond with the woman I came out of.
|
135265
|
"Poets are damned but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of the angels."--William Carlos WilliamsThere is something beautiful I want to say to you that doesn't seem to make much more sense in a box of clever words like this one. It feels closer to…
|
135200
|
each vertebra is a golden cavalier, brave in upright vigilance; stoic heroes.
|
135243
|
the sand is hot to walk upon so you must run if caught there w/out footwear. it is like a painter has colored the sea and made parts of it dark blue yet other areas green. little birds jump around the fine grain world and that is when you wonder where they came…
|
135241
|
|
135210
|
From my office window, I watch the trains roll in and out of the city. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of passengers staring out windows as the train slows, the ones who have another destination. I've been on those trains before, ones that took me far away from all that…
|
135287
|
Did you really think you were going to cure cancer with that poem?
|
135297
|
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.
|
135221
|
The woman was dancing, holding her bottle in the air as she slowly turned around, blocking the way to the exit. “I asked Miss Pansy Blossom if she would wing a reel,” she sang.
|
135130
|
The river was frigid. Branches, empty cans, and used condoms float past me.I lost my jacket when I became snagged on a tree branch. My shoes are gone. My skin is blue-grey, as are my lips and fingernails. I've been face-down in this river for two…
|
135175
|
of anything if that's the way you feel your love must go down, off its last nut before the big victimizing crash of the end of days and flowers. But watch out for thosethorn bushes that grow from forgotten holes in the ground.…
|
1351137
|
I find Vermeer and Bach and feel/
for a moment a shower of my own world’s/
prismatics.
|
135141
|
Whisper salutations to your irises
|
135196
|
" No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: he may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing."--T.S. EliotI think, okay now I know, the poem's starting to wear off. But I'm alive, at least…
|
135122
|
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,…
|
135110
|
“Living rooms,” said the town drunk, “are incapable of emanating.”
|
135100
|
the gambling priest stands in the morning fog/red moon hangs in the sky/the army of seven houses marches over the hill
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