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As Zoë says, “You and your musician friends drink in industrial quantities.”
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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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. . . 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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This was supposed to be a love letter written by a content writer, then it just got weird.
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The white moon is dangling
by a thread tonight.
I close my eyes
and listen to it undress.
Your halo fell around your ankles
and you became see-through,
but there’s a vast gulf between being pretty,
and pretty dangerous.
Still, I’ve s
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When were you flash frozen?
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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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Waves like lovers gather and crest, crash into
White uncertainty.
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Dutton felt thwarted in his literary career, producing only the classic "Here I sit all broken-hearted, paid a nickel to crap and only farted" in a locker room stall at halftime of the 1963 Weedwacker Bowl.
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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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I rang the doorbell. Claire opened the door, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. I opened my arms to give her a big hug. She stiffened and pulled away. Stunned, my lips parted, but I couldn’t think of a single word to say.
Ideal, Phillis. ”Broken”, Pure
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so much of what we know with certainty is amazingly uncertain
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Hey Sledge!
Yo.
Did you know Socrates hated the idea of writing thoughts down? He said it weakened the memory…made us lazy.
Say wha?
That's why he never wrote a book. The only way we know about him is through his student Plato's writing. St
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They say nothing, but instead watch the birds and people hovering. Every day is an echo of the one before, and the weight of waiting has begun to show itself in the stature of the tiny man and his little old wife. …
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but all I can give them now are air hugs
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the lazy leaves of a parlour palm finger
lavender in a wine bottle.
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Drink tons of water they keep telling me...
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By the basement washtubs, I watched him skin a squirrel:
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What don't they all do for us?They absorb, eliminate negative feelings and make you smile. To just name a few ... They make you sane, how insane it may seem from a certain point of view.But let me tell you this: I'm 1300 kms away from my family. I don't care much about…
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“How about licensed-character theme funerals for kids who die young?” I asked, broaching a sensitive subject. “Do you think they’re”–I hesitated–”a money maker?”
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Mr. Townsend is a normal guy. He's been on auto pilot a while. When he finally snaps out of it, he's surprised at what he finds.
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I thought that was the last day of the world (when I floated up near your ceiling,) but it was the first. I thought I had seen the worst. But that was nothing. I know you had no idea what was coming when I first met you. But when we looked in each other
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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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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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You better read the papers
If you don’t understand
Cause as of last night
I’m a one-man band
You’d better walk through water
With your boots on fire
Cause Baby I don’t think
I can take this any higher
You’d better find out what I dr
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