1138 3 3
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Getting up and reading his poem
The stuffy poet sitting back down
On the leather couch, which creaks under his weight
After adjusting his narrow tie from the 1980’s
The stuffy poet clearing his throat, twice,
During an enemy’s reading
The s
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113840
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The coffee filter rustles like the Pages of your notebook, which Only tires you even more. Make your drink strong to Make up for the lack of resolve In your shoulders, and Your weak promises. The familiar sound of percolation And you reach the…
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113810
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Around sunset or sometime after, we are on the futon talking about dream lives and cancers. He asks me about my ideal living situation, my ideal career, my ideals in general. I would be a turtle, I say. I would travel and have a home I could always go to, I could always be…
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113800
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Once upon a mind-flight
Leary with the tripping became weary
Of the psychedelic travel
Felt the universe unravel
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113864
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It was an autumn day, late in the afternoon, a Tuesday, when the last murderer died. There was no official announcement. Indeed, she and her crime had been forgotten. Pancreatitis, her cause of death. Quite treatable, the cancer. Nothing could be done for the gene that…
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113800
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CHAPTER ONE About nine-thirty P.M. on Friday night, Mary Fowler pushed her grocery cart through the double sliding glass doors. It was three weeks before Christmas. The sun had set and the temperature had begun to cool rapidly in…
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113800
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Sally knows the situation: if your name's on the list you can't come in. If they try to walk past her, swipe their card on the electronic barrier's scanner, instead of a short benevolent bleep and the gate sliding open, it will fail. The hapless individua
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113800
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113854
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I have constructed this emotion with tinfoil and stilts. I wear the mask of a typewriter. I have roots in Minnesota. I have a glass hat and a junkyard monstrosity pregnant with parables.
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113810
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Whether the girl was found fleeing and abducted into a short life of inexcusable torment or she escaped from the paths of Kulowul, the kingdom would fall in a matter of days.
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113800
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Mike Summer's moustache was perfect. Hard bristle and so symmetrical it looked cut to the angles of a military imperative. He was pretty proud of it, thought the team of beaters, who watched him as he sat on the boot ledge of his sage green Mercedes 123 T, combing…
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113700
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He will spread peace like wet blood on a sheet.
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113722
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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
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113732
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My memory is like tracks in the snow. My memory is cookie dough. My memory is dirty tube socks.
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113752
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If I was a bum
I’d risk everything
For a drink or a smoke.
I would beg and curse and steal
If I was a bum.
If I was a bum
I would cuss out the Pope.
I would not vote for anyone
Because I would know truly
They’d be telling gross lies.
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1137139
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113700
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they could be barefoot bastard children
for somebody else to clothe
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113712
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I dig with no light to guide the aim of my shovel but the stars peeking through the trees which are fuller now then when you went away.
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113753
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The world follows me everywhere. I can’t get rid of it. I’m being stalked by a planet.
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113742
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—Francesco, I wish you would give up smoking, said Michiko.
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113600
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Popular wisdom would have it that heroin addicts are some kind of cross between vampire menace and low-rent cartoon.
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113663
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“Professor Gosser,”continued Victor, “I once screwed three women in a row--I mean of course, time, not space—good one, huh? Well, each woman farted at the exact moment she climaxed. Would that qualify as coincidence? And did it have anything to do with th
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113631
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What do you do
when a Shirelle asks you
if you’re in the mood to dance?
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113600
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I have hate and it is black not midnight, crisp fresh clear. Unadulterated. It is dirty, poor, gritty solid rough like unripe stone fruit. A peach, mealy and dry. The killing, effete, endures. Silent, my repugnance, sick, eats…
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113642
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He saw in her something fierce and wild
and gently led her to
his open palm...
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113600
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Tread acres and acres of aches
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113622
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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,…
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113620
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When I was nine years old, I fell through the rotting
boards that covered my grandmother's cesspool and nearly
drowned.
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113620
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I wanted those jelly rolls so bad I could scream
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113630
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this orient tide come occident: this roll of wreck and reckoned eyes that fathomless are found or made to find her keep within the tight shut shell in soundings deeper than the plumblined soul these western waves gone east: these…
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