1363 3 3
|
irretrievably we tell ourselves stories
irretrievably as beaded water slides off our skin
|
136300
|
The bedroom was still as our conversation dissolved into a heavy silence broken only by the ticking of the clock on her night table and the occasional sob that hadn't yet been swallowed in her pillow. I stubbed out my cigarette and leaned forward in…
|
136320
|
It was the most prestigious cashier position in the entire state!
|
136334
|
Words reach out of my mind for paradise. And come back with rocks.
|
136322
|
I wonder what it would be like to dog-paddle in the middle of the ocean.
I wonder how Jean Auguste Ingres got the flesh tones for “Odalisque.”
I wonder if bees have dreams.
|
136300
|
“You know, Miss Viv, I love looking at the sun when it’s almost gone. It kinda looks like an orange and apple squished together. Those are the colors. And the puffy clouds under it look like a bed. It’s going to sleep."
|
136310
|
Me leaving is not the confirmation of all your fears. It is not. It's because of them.
|
136322
|
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
|
136387
|
Did you really think you were going to cure cancer with that poem?
|
136322
|
He said, “It was only after I broke my neck and even like maybe a year later that I really started realizing that I had something to say.”
|
136223
|
I, Seer of the Stars, Cartographer of the Cosmos, / measure my mass, and to whom do I owe this woe...
|
136220
|
"I need a male friend, and I think I've found one."
|
1362159
|
Dread and drudgery sour each day
|
136211
|
I am tripping on poetry.
Purple ink drips from my eyes like ergot of rye.
|
136200
|
an island hidden in the sound holds treasure
|
136244
|
I will always remember that
picture of you in your
bright blue summer dress,
with your arms spread out
against a wooden fence in
Central Park.
|
136222
|
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,…
|
136211
|
There is a false dawn,
when night still holds sway, but tempered with promise; anticipation.
|
136255
|
The television was playing reruns of Mr. Ed, but it was hard to hear because of the flock of birds in the palm tree. I’d sometimes imagined the birds coming through the window, a swarming of pink cotton mouths, mawing everything in sight.
|
136220
|
The flowerpots across the street from Frank’s room at the Place d’Armes Hotel never appeared parched by the late August sun.
|
136263
|
It's lunch in the car time at 5:30 pm
The car sits next to the mattress delivery truck
in hope of receiving a blanket of shade
|
136210
|
|
136241
|
We call this game the end of the world...
|
136200
|
That was nearly two years and a thousand smiles ago.
|
136100
|
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.
|
136132
|
His thoughts drifted to when he was a kid, to the monthly trip to the barber.
|
136110
|
[My baloney has a first name: it's Oh, Ess, Cee, Ay -- shit! I forget the rest! Can we start over?]
|
136110
|
When I was a boy and just out of seminary school, I went to a Doors concert and heard Jim Morrison sing his song ‘Soft Parade’ – it changed my life.
|
136130
|
From the earth it erupts
Growing longer, stronger, as the sun rises and sets
Days and nights pass, bringing the wind, the rain, the moon, the stars
A place of shelter it becomes
|
136181
|
If you had a choice, be a poet or not,
I’d suggest prose for the lines that you jot.
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