1257 8 7
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The machines of her perception/
tuned themselves to frequencies//
that peeled her skin and fatty tissue
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125620
|
He sat behind her in Honors English, each day studying everything about her.......
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125621
|
Breaking News: Noted local writer and very minor celebrity Paul Steven Stone joined a growing list of talentless wannabes to bare skin and a hint of nipple in a shameless attempt to draw attention to his current blog posting. When asked how far he would g
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125620
|
As we follow the trail and things snap beneath our feet, I tell myself that the snapped things take pleasure, find purpose even, in the sounds they make with my soles.
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125600
|
Vikki respond, "Say big guy, you eat pussy?"
The Mohawk flustered.
"Uh!?...Yeah...sure."
Vikki snickered, "Great. We got something in common. So do I."
|
125600
|
“This horrible street. I hate this neighborhood,” she cursed.
|
125622
|
The boy in the elevator with round glasses, /
who carried a newly-purchased broom, /
was tall and burdened with clothes
|
125600
|
He'd always considered it his bus.
|
1256107
|
|
125632
|
Every year I make New Year's resolutions and every year I break them. So this year, I'm trying something different -- resolutions for other people. Hey world -- here are the changes I'd like to see YOU make in 2014(1) Cell phone owners: No more blathering on your cell in…
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125600
|
|
1255136
|
I tell people that we leave out food for the creatures to appease the skunk gods.
|
125511
|
my soul is black and it's deep like heartbreak and heavy as stone and as thick as ink and it is pressing on top of me like last nights one night stand like dead weight so that I can't lift my arms or spread my legs it feels like I am walking through mud but it's…
|
125510
|
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.
|
125530
|
A kind of sucking darkness into
A kind of noir celebration of despair
|
125563
|
|
125521
|
To assist you in recalling some of Episode One of - "A Poem by Jasmine Coriander-Semolina": My head lifted up slowly as I looked up through a gaussian blur of fragrant incense smoke and saw she was crying. She whispered that her daughter, Pastina, was last…
|
125541
|
This time is different. The dream doesn’t continue with endless walking.
|
125533
|
Once I get through this I'm going to start: daily yoga stretches; walking the dog all the way to the waterfall every morning; tossing out, unread, Saturday's ads so I don't think about going into Walmart to buy Stack-A-Shelves (assembly required). Hey, even…
|
125596
|
The world can still be viewed as a honey drop of sparkling rain, but not all washed up tears can be revealed as such. The stories swirling inside are constantly shifting their own gears, searching for the lost highway, and sometimes…
|
1255199
|
A bedridden ward of the state,/
warehoused in a nursing home,/
unable to drive to the liquor store/
for whiskey and cigarettes,
|
125554
|
I don't have to show you how to fly. I don't even know who you are still possibly trying to be in this crazy grounded world. But the words make us family. I can't help that or what you might do with that public tweet tweet…
|
125500
|
Sunday Night She wasn't hungry, hadn't eaten for days, wouldn't even touch the food I took time off my fuckin' schedule to bring her myself. I walked through puddles of dirt and dog shit, I did. By the time she opened the door after four knocks, I was drenched,…
|
1255126
|
|
125522
|
I caught a fragment of a charged argument as I passed them. The young man said, “Well, I am talking about love.” And the young woman with equal volume checkmated with, “Well, I am talking about money.” Though their lives were none of my business, this exc
|
125542
|
Im in bed.
Bed.
I look at the word bed written on the screen.
Bed.
It looks like bad but not quite.
Bed-Bad.
Bad-Bed.
I have a bad bed. Lets say my bed is bad.
It is a bed to the extent that it is bad. It is not good, it is bad. It is a bad bed.
|
125410
|
Duffy struck an adversarial tone from the outset, offering up a first poem about improper expenses submitted by members of Parliament that ruffled feathers across party lines.
|
125440
|
"Well, you certainly can't be marrying him then .. "
|
1254139
|
|
125431
|
The damaged sky is not more black than your hair,
Ashen tonight and floating over the land in blackened
Smoke, where the furrows run with milk light
Or snow, blue and white, and the world-ash floats.
Your patient body sleeps and the white pain
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