1258 4 3
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I'm looking for the perfect/passage, a safe, sound/jettison to now.
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125800
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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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125800
|
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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125820
|
He will later claim he knows nothing of the girl’s disappearance and that I was the last one seen with her, which will unfortunately be true but not the real story…
|
125842
|
That morning in the driving rain a sequence of automobiles appeared on the streets in the region with headlights in the form of television monitors
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125811
|
A Boston company has created a humanoid robot named “Baxter” that performs manufacturing tasks and gets a confused look on its face when it needs something.
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125800
|
No One The city he abandoned lies below him. It's been years, so many tears. He admires the remains of the White City, The Shed, rooted ahead. He jaunts through Roosevelt Train station, hassled by the acrid stench pollinating the area. I…
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125800
|
. . . he's of mixed race. Along with European blood, he's got Mexican Indian and African blood. Here's the irony. He don't look nothing like a white European man but he thinks like one.
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125810
|
I think of particles exploding, coming back together like some physics experiment I don’t know the name for. “Large Hadron Collider,” you say. But that’s not what I mean.
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125821
|
In the tang of winter warm
and summer cool,
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1258129
|
Where the Story LiesEverybody wants to knowwhere the story lies. Does itlie in childhood? Does it liein old age? Does it lie in anangry outburst or a stingingrebuke? Does it lie in a momentof compassion or in the recognitionof calloused selfishness? Bruisedlove or…
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125782
|
I’d met this crowd of drunken poets from San Francisco
Even though this was smack dab in the middle of winter
Smack dab in the middle of the flattened Illinois plains
Why they all left San Francisco I’ll never completely understand
But there we we
|
125753
|
Pick up any stick or stone and you'll find the path again. Pick out any lone star and it will shine just for you. The rascal wind simply enjoys messing about with your serious nature. Listen to its…
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125710
|
She’s not settling. She can learn to like this.
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125786
|
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125722
|
his eyes see blood as circumstance.
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125711
|
The ride home after Basketball and a little beer; That's when the best poems happen. Poems pin-prick sharp Puncturing through dulled Senses while streetlamps pass Overhead. They find their way inside you But they don't stick. Poems left back somewhere On the…
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125700
|
“You're right by the mall, the cultural district, and just a few minutes from downtown,” the realtor smiled. “And it's on a bus line?” the wife asked. “Yes it…
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125754
|
My father is the kind of man to shout at you /
just because you took the wrong road /
at least the road that he’s not used to...
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1256107
|
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125697
|
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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125611
|
Trenches coated with man-gruel laced the earth.
|
125632
|
The coach told the player, number 21, to stand in front of the net in order to distract the opposing team's goaltender and to block the view, to 'screen' him as it were. 21 did so, and did it well. There were defensemen that gave him much trouble by hitting his legs and…
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125631
|
I hope my blonde down still beats in your heart, and the black crescent curved under, you will remember, and I would move toward your window where my own heart lay in a dish, with the thick valley lifting.
Remember, I crossed and uncrossed my legs f
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125630
|
Roanne awoke on the livingroom couch with the usual willies dancing in stomp time inside her. She blinked, looked around. The room was a mess, with clothes strewn hither and yon on the floor and the chairs and TV. On the walls, rock stars,…
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125643
|
The boy wasn’t raised this way.
|
125611
|
|
125653
|
Meagan rides the subway with perfect lips and deep thoughts, looking moody out the smudged window like an actress in a Sofia Coppola film.
|
125500
|
VIII. Towards Affinities, Beyond My love, since I saw you last, since before we reached the chamber, I cannot count the quasars which have passed, but there still gleams Time, Like a memory of a lost event unwitnessed, and this illusion Carried…
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125520
|
Time is a form of sandwich. Each component of the sandwich is nestled between night and day, which enclose it like slices of bread. There are minutes, hours, and seconds. Seconds are tiny, like sesame seeds. Minutes are a little larger. Think of them as p
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