2399 13 8
|
Every day the trains transported the young and successful and the not so young and less successful who belonged to the five buildings.
|
239993
|
Back when Richard was still skinny and mean, we fought at The Island. He broke a pool stick over my head. I bruised more than his ego. We fought over a woman, as always. We were best friends and that’s what we did.
W
|
23982516
|
The last time they made love she could feel the hint of pain and loss which would become her.
|
239851
|
'That November I washed
my hair with rabbit's blood -"
|
239800
|
I lay on grass warmed by the sun Somehow the breeze finds Its way between my toes I gaze at your beauty Standing alone in between Blades of green grass Is Shasta My Daisy I watch you dance As the wind teases and blows I watch you stand tall …
|
2398136
|
When we say "Nanoism is looking for twitter-fiction serials for its current contest," this is one example of what we mean.
|
239831
|
The grenadier moans in his sleep. He’s making love with a dead brown woman. A small, bone thin woman with heavy milk
full breast. A dead child’s milk.
|
239785
|
This is where he died, she says to me, and points to the damp pavement. Her hair is wet, and slicked against her neck. The humidity is making everything engulf her. The sleep shorts I bought her last July are loose on her now, but between the rain and
|
23962616
|
I thought to tell him I do not love raspberries, but blueberries, but he did not attend to the things I loved.
|
2395179
|
“I found a recipe on the net and now my hair smells of pumpkin.”
|
239532
|
The pieces of bread dipped us humans in cheese,
the cheese made by cows from our milk.
|
239511
|
The first morning we met—I remember the rain, soft the way I like it—was a series she later attributed as a fourteen-frame sunrise.
|
23942312
|
Down cellar, my father showed me where he kept his beer stash. It was in a cubbyhole under the bulkhead, where Mom never thought to look.
|
239456
|
He is snoring inside the silo of his throat. The inside there shines golden but that’s not the truth. There is something caught below the gold.
|
2393197
|
"The truth isn't always beauty, but the hunger for it is.'--Nadine Gordimer Other things do matter just as much of course. Of course they do. Hey I'm still kind of alive inside this poem here. At least I'd like to think so, so yes another…
|
2393105
|
‘In terms of relationship, I am your Father – my name is the Emperor’.
|
23931914
|
I’m in the Grand Central Station bar-- the one at the top of the stairs-- waiting for my husband to enter so I can watch him. The bar is crowded, everyone getting in that last beer before heading back to whiney children and tired spouses.
|
23925027
|
He lit a slim, brown cigarette and drew on it. "But have you heard the flugelhorn? I mean, have you heard a particularly adept flugelhorn?"
|
239261
|
It was too late to be eponymous. I was happy enough to be an emulator. But even then, my ideas were nothing but re-runs of re-runs. Like a high-school production of Macbeth.
|
239153
|
That was the first time I went over the wall. No bird opened its mouth to chirp. No wind blew. I staggered a little on the stony edge.
And dropped down. I changed in a cafe. Shaved. Emerged as that rare thing: a new man. My clothes were old, saved for
|
239174
|
Initially, she had no hopes about his impending arrival, scrawny as he was, until realizing that, because he was a boy, because he was new around here, he might want to wrestle.
|
2388116
|
(originally appeared in Lit Up)http://litupmagazine.wordpress.com/poetry/rusty-barnes/Remind me never to call youagain after you get home late,for the familiar fear of the deadbolt noise,the shifty creak of your linoleum floor,the way you throw your jacket overthe sofa and…
|
23882013
|
"For God's sake," my mother said. "There could be anthrax in the candy."
My mother worried about me going out on Halloween.
|
238763
|
We buried her upright, in the stance of warriors.
|
238794
|
I hate walking into restaurants and cafes by myself to meet someone. I always feel awkward, as if no one will claim me. I'm hanging on the threshold now for an agonizing few moments scanning the room until I see my friend.“Hi!” she says, waving her cup at…
|
238553
|
____________________________________I get an internet connection and send this poem out in haste: Drugs, New Orleans…
|
238584
|
I'm Icarus in Brueghel's painting. My wings as it turned out were made of wax. Mothers, tell your daughters this truth. You cannot fly so close to the sun.
|
23851714
|
my foreign mouth embarrassed the teachers. my jumbled words gave people sad faces. so wrong these words of mine. even the mentally retarded girl would not talk to me. just looking at my garbled mouth made her slap herself. and my writing. oh no. my writin
|
23831210
|
'This dude’s whole life must be in this book. It’s like, a man diary.' The thought makes her laugh.
|
23811712
|
|
