1158 12 8
|
fog settles over the mountain laying a ghostly blue shroud
|
115820
|
When I was nine years old, I fell through the rotting
boards that covered my grandmother's cesspool and nearly
drowned.
|
115852
|
lift my love and be lifted
|
115833
|
I am from slow diagnoses, impatience and parents skeptical of New York City doctors. I am from tall buildings, yogurt shakes, and envy for my brother's asthma machine. I am from here, stay away from there, don't get too close, be careful at the edge, the…
|
115821
|
The rhythm of my breathing
is a litany of regret.
|
115800
|
I can’t move - I try to move my arms - I try to move my legs - If I can scream then that will wake me up - I scream
|
115800
|
they could be barefoot bastard children
for somebody else to clothe
|
115843
|
the ones that have seen
the other seasons,
let them set up the track
|
115865
|
Things are still being said in a world that sounds like rough bows and straight slicing arrows communicating with (smashing like fists) a poor pool of tired animals. There must also come a time to surprise these same cruel machines…
|
115844
|
Caution,
the beer on the shore
is lapping at the foam
of sanity,
and the wind in the trees
is speaking thy
previous names.
Caution,
a rise in the ocean
will soak your dress
above your knees,
causing infinite tears,
infinite hopes
|
115731
|
The waitress appears and Fred gives her a big smile and th3 once over. It's no wonder he's had so many women in his life while I've . . . uh . . . read a lot of books.
|
115774
|
—A little blood puts some life into the work, said the old artisan smiling.
|
115700
|
The sound wasn’t coming from her dream, it was coming from inside the house. Somewhere outside her bedroom the noise was gaining power. Each pitch climbed higher with the urgency of a smoke alarm. With hands over ears and a hazy brain she got up from her
|
115742
|
She was the clerk in the photography shop.
|
115700
|
bursting girl there is no moon
|
115752
|
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.
|
115711
|
They were afraid that the spiders would crawl up their slim, u-shaped gaps and get inside them. He wasn’t sure how it would happen to her, just that it was possible
|
1157116
|
Ok, so I know this guy, he's a friend of mine. A good friend, even though I think he's left too big a tip on the bar more than once. His name is Frank.
|
115711
|
Here is a not remembering
|
115740
|
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…
|
115754
|
Left by a melting snowbank: Cup lids, pine needles, a cairn of dog shit, And the grey soggy shape Of an eyeless winter bird. His breast is an old accordion Gone to rot in an old…
|
115777
|
She rubs her head into mine...
|
115700
|
|
115754
|
cold plunges its lethal chill spade/into the dirt before cold takes the earth/to ossify it stiff with ice/the semblance of cold the semblance of death/said only to be felt this side of the grave.
|
115722
|
the impression I had gotten of him was that he was fifty percent yuppie and fifty percent drug dealer from Marin.
|
1157106
|
2008Not a bubble burstbut a trust ruptured.The guilty don't survivebut, rather, thrive. 2011The monied are superior.They game the system well.As we work harder, longer,their paper fortunes swell.2017Marie and Louie were monied once.The Romanovs as well.Fast as blades and…
|
115755
|
|
115700
|
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…
|
115712
|
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.
|
115700
|
Take a flying leap?Mother would never agreeSo away from the campground we sneakTo show the boy where I was a boySummer day shirtless with swimsuits onOne hundred degrees walking through the treesThe season early with winter runoffWater here still seventy feet deepHoping the…
|
