1287 11 8
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128710
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It wasn't the sun sparkling
Or the dog of the neighbor
Barking.
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128743
|
I'm looking for the perfect/passage, a safe, sound/jettison to now.
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128743
|
September 21, 2009 Dear Diary, She learned English by doing crosswords, my mom. I'm sure she picked up a few things from the people around her as well, but yeah, always doing crosswords. When I lived too far away to visit regularly, I bought a Scrabble…
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128700
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The concourse had become his second home, he knew it that well. His fellow passengers were the houseguests he couldn't get rid of, the workers at the restaurants and gift shops a personal…
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128754
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No one has the right/
to script how someone dies.
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128700
|
This was supposed to be a love letter written by a content writer, then it just got weird.
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128700
|
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128700
|
She looked out the window. It was raining. “Better than snow” she told herself. She didn’t mind traveling. It was good to travel once in a while. By road, when someone else was driving. Like now, on the bus back home. It gave you time to reflect, re
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1286107
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1286138
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Humanity comes without a choice
|
128697
|
I'm writing you this letter played on a cherry flute. I'm sending it along through the poem's cloud of incense. The only delivery system I still hitch up for long distance pitching. I'm writing you a letter you'll probably never read. Never…
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128611
|
You think about bears and it gives you a headache? Don’t give them that power.
You see bears and it gives you a headache? Don’t run. Don’t walk but don’t run.
|
128632
|
He doesn't tell her that he is married, and that his five year old daughter who is living at your house has a mother back in that same city
|
128602
|
There's a whole pack of us, men minted from hot brass and thumbtacks.
Too tough for sensibility's sake.
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1286105
|
As far as I knew it was just an old man and his wife who lived in this house, but not really. I mean if you had seen what every person on that block had, you would have realized that many lived there, well many beings.
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128610
|
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.
|
128653
|
She had some fascinatingif incongruoustwins of swing hips.Her eyes made me thinkof opium densof fast women without a twitch,the sweet despair of gentlemen loserswith their 19th centuryhandbooks of moralityand witchcraft. But she only wanted mefor my Fuji Red…
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128610
|
Two lovers — their genders / faces / social identities / etc. up to the viewer’s imagination (though I caution you, dear reader, not to imagine yourself in this role due to the psychic intensity of the following passages) — writhe against each other
|
128600
|
I am brave, I am sexy, I am strong
|
128575
|
|
128582
|
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
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128550
|
The banality of his own state of boredom, a luxury to be satiated with violence, to hack with an axe the exposed neck of his friend.
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128512
|
Tom wasn’t crying.
A few snowflakes, the first of the season, flittered down and landed on Elizabeth’s new headstone, christening it. Tom didn’t have his topcoat, and he never buttoned his suit. He tried not to shiver. Lynn lifted her face from Tom’s c
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128511
|
Trenches coated with man-gruel laced the earth.
|
128512
|
The women, I think,
Handle it better than
The men.
The men just stare
Straight ahead
Vacantly
Hollow-eyed
Lonely.
The women more
Fulfilled by their lives,
Having always
Expressed their love.
The men,
Not so much.
And find
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128512
|
The Sunday sunset slowly simmers the sea.
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128500
|
They do exist though. They have for centuries and when one comes forward and is vocal and authentic, it pays to give a listen. How to know if they are authentic? They charge nothing, they fear nothing and they merely exist in the world, just as you and I
|
128531
|
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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128500
|
When the village slept, the men came knocking.
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