1310 5 3
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Meagan rides the subway with perfect lips and deep thoughts, looking moody out the smudged window like an actress in a Sofia Coppola film.
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131033
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The sun was a dish of burnished courage
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130941
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B developed a thick emulsion that he paints onto the pieces of meat on which he prints photographs.
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130997
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We’re heading to a
Poetry reading when my wife
Says “You owe me one”
Coming back from the
Poetry reading, my wife says
“You owe me, big time”
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130920
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Maria met her husband in World War Two. Maria is now eighty-two. She is from the country of Tuscany. She has lived in may countries. She was a war bride. She has a son. Maria's son is sixty-three. As a baby-boomer he won't retire until sixty-five Maria says.…
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130900
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Many colored eyes move slow
between the mirror and my heart,
begging questions.
I offer no explanation.
None suffice to breed either my content or theirs.
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130965
|
and any stain or streak/
is as you will or wish it
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130930
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They take the blue man out on a stretcher, stiff in cyanotic repose until the paramedics shake him. He sits bolt upright, startled, confused, indignant. ‘Lazarus?' I ask. ‘Argyria. Happens every fucking time he naps on the …
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130900
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This was supposed to be a love letter written by a content writer, then it just got weird.
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130932
|
Rain dressed for winter, a win, she thought
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130955
|
today
somewhere by water
this photograph of a woman
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1308106
|
Mothers and sons and war, an old story...
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130833
|
a midge smothered
in the light of disarray
crawls back into the sage
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130800
|
He’d eaten every kind of pizza from the most sublime to the foulest.
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1308115
|
In which era was it not a scary world?/
Last century, the perils were both red and yellow/
after Jerry was undone. Now, they’re brown/
and cross, without respect, the Rio Grande
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130800
|
Al-Sidran pulled out a switchblade knife from his pocket and proceeded to carefully cut open the box. Ben could tell it was razor sharp by the way it cut through the packing tape and cardboard.
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130864
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We made a plan to see each other to chat more and so we did. I went to his little house in the neighboring town and walked in to a kind of time warp. It was a large living room, made so by it's emptiness. It was stark in the vastness it seemed, but dark.
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130841
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A woman I work with is always going on about her daughter is an expert water-skier and has a collection of antique thimbles and makes prize-winning congo bars.
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130810
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Lupe drove. She didn't know where she was going, but still she drove. The Mustang whined because she did not shift gears. The street was wet from a night rain and if…
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130800
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The woman wrings her hands again and again, reaching up to place one under her chin, then to her cheek as though there is some pending trepidation no one else can see...
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130800
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Heaven and hell. Hadley believed in neither. One way or another you’re a meal ticket for someone, best to be the one spending than the one being spent. The worms and insects are getting their meal ticket now, that’s for sure.
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130845
|
Soccer Tease
Nerdvana
Ballsa Wood
Pulp Friction
Spam Folder
Fetal Position
Wayne Newton’s Yacht
Late Bloomers
Sir Real Geese
|
130895
|
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13081511
|
When the compost thaws the past oozes out into the present....
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130821
|
Listening for a chain saw with one ear and to Todd and the trooper with the other, I’m trying to hustle up and finish my business - sweating in my coat and sweatshirt - and I think this: not so silly now, is it, this invisible or being able to fly choice?
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130832
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one day the words will form an order, one day the words will make a rhyme, one day the words will make a meaning
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130810
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Your words broke meLike a china vase dropped to the floorAnd though the pieces were recoveredStuck together with love and compassionThe cracks are there for those who lookI was happy to be there, content in that placeYou wanting to be somewhere elseNever telling me where…
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130833
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The lone young man walking in the distance,/receding silently,
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130700
|
Even raw as she looked coming out of the jail, the woman left echoes.
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130740
|
I've been a fan of hagiography—the lives of the saints—since first grade when Claude Dunham and I were asked to represent St. Stephen and St. Sebastian, two martyrs of the early church, in a tableau vivant of bored boys.
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