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They say he started the study on February 26, 20—. Ever since that day, no one has seen or heard from him.
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124900
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At the week's end, memories may come to you Of weekends same as those just gone before, That fade away from seeing as a tide's grey flue, That vanishes once travelled to a shifting shore: Still, hope you'll know a girl for an hour anew, One who fades…
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Outside cool fresh morning tiny fingers
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And what about: there's this signature dessert at the restaurant where you are eating and it is called DEATH BY CHOCOLATE? And you know it is, because you've had it, and wow.
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124855
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As a boy Edward had stayed in the confessional several times in a row. The priest was drunk and couldn't tell it was the same kid over and over. The tiny door slid open…”Scobbity bobbity…tell me your sins…” Edward confessed what he thought were sins, then said…
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124833
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Whenever I get the urge to write a poem I try to talk myself out of it.
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The girl went outside her door and stood and stared at the sky.there were clouds in the sky. the girl wore glasses with black framesthe girl stared at the sky some more and put on a bright yellow baseball hatshe sat in a white resin chairthe girl sat quietly and watched the…
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Soft rain, small rain, steady rain—
what the shrubs and tangled
young red oak tree need—
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124811
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I should have worn shorts.
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The memory fades so quickly, It makes me wonder if it ever really happened? Then I have to create something new from scratch to fill the space Yeah, there are patterns, and sudden movements that pass for recollections, but couldn't they as…
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124831
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He had to
get over
the short bridge
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1248105
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Upstairs, in a room where some years later, the occupant would be murdered by his lover, I sat in my skivvies in an armchair and wondered if I should call my wife.
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That evening, my friend and I were at a McDonalds'. It was late in the evening, and we got together after she sent me a text message she meant to send to someone else. I got a burger. She got fries.
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It’s too early in the morning to play the glockenspiel. I’ll just sit here and knit this tiger.
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124820
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If you were looking for her
She's in the backwoods
grafting your skin
from her thighs
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124820
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How we segued from exploring the wind to eating a nitwit sandwich.
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124820
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We kidnap mothers of all sorts: old mothers, single mothers, young mothers (rarely), but we never do it for ransom. As a society we are adamantly opposed to the use of violence. Our mission is to remove mothers from environments they are not appreciated in, whether by their…
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124864
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FedEx merges with UPS
becoming
FedUp
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124866
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of a strangely found desire. I wanted to tell you something important, I'm sure, I mean it's pretty obvious, even in this funny breathing space, but everything has been said to death. More isn't always…
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I don’t understand what happened. I keep pushing your buttons but you won’t do anything. You just lie there, cold and dead, staring back at me without any light and I feel like I’m going to cry.
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I'm not plagued with high levels. Must be all the raking I do. My pubes look as lush as my hair, so fire isn't even a concern. Maybe heat exhaustion is.This might be a poem,My oceans aren't small.
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Hardly a soul could pin him for creating the vehemence that found a streamule to her pen if she wrote in cursive or a fanjet to her keyboard if she typed quickly and satisfyingly in print, employing eight fingers and two thumbs—
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124700
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Ben watched Monique disappear into the first-class cabin. It didn’t seem likely that he would see her again after this flight.
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124741
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“Namaste,” I say as I hand the guy his ticket. “The divinity within me salutes the divinity within you. Have a nice freaking day.”
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1247148
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Sometimes we hurt ourselves, we scratch ourselves, we bleed — for a simple joy... All I wanted to do was to find the poplar again — the tree of my young arms, of my budding breasts. My fingers used to circle around its bold and vigorous waist, but in the…
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124721
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I try to slot into order the sequence of events: the book deal that appeared and then winked away like a dying star, the white gloves and the brick through Waterstone's window; my novel lying in the shop front in a bed of glass.
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124743
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The old hate the young. Robe exposed monks do not Hate mosquitoes. It is one. It is one hand. It is on. Mountains don't hate sky. The rich hate the poor. The poor hate the rich. The parade of scholars hate the …
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