928 2 2
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“I am the Successor of Peter!” he said, supporting himself on the shepherd’s staff topped with a crucifix: “And you are trespassing on Holy Ground.” Baal said: “No ground is Holy for me.
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92800
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The crescent moon lies with anyone (in case you wanted to know.) And the rain – as cheaply! I don’t think anyone knows this, when they are young. When you are young, very young, you want to be included in everything.
“The young that the sea took, ki
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928139
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one season slips into another
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92740
|
We spent that entire winter with shaky hands and shrunken egos.
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92711
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Traffic, no need to be in a hurry.
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92721
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We all heard the audible skill you had, speaking smoothly of our lives, saying audibly what has driven us, who are huge with night, rising with its origin inside, and clear water running past, beyond, behind, and after us.
To honor, to fear utteranc
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92720
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92700
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My tongue lashes out like a whip.
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92777
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I enjoy the walk through these crowded woods. It's good to be back among deeply seated young and old trees again. That familiar smell, you want to always savor it so very much, to not deny any of it. It smells like a blue sky, the…
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92611
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It sits there, watching, waiting, multiple cycles over.
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92665
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If you want to be a writer, just write stuff.
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92633
|
out in space/ platonic forms/ dazzle with/ voluptuous grace
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92631
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“‘Dial Back the Snark’ is an attempt to fight the cynicism that’s corroding America’s social fabric,” Myers says, mixing his metaphors. “It’s spreading like wildfire."
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92697
|
It's not that there's nothing new, it's all new. That blue color is not the one you remember, but the one you are experiencing, and at the same time, you bring everything you are, crushing into dust, with you. Green…
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92665
|
Not sure I remember what's important, but I remember you. That's the whole problem I think. You're a drain where all my words wind up going down. All of them get lost inside of you. Eventually. And I'm left with nothing to say. Because all my words are…
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92643
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I really think we ought to be drinking
The Wild Virgin again
I remember having a beer once
And feeling like a minor god, yes
Just like you did
So, now, listen to me: if she snores all night
That’s one thing
But if she screws the lights out
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92621
|
We were stuck sweating it out on a long suburban plain when you left. Or else we’d mob the one visible hill (in Palos Hills, or Hillside) and turn the televisions on, looking behind us nervously, hopelessly, until every evening became a Wednesday evenin
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92621
|
It wasn't meant for our brains to take in so much information, I hear someone say on NPR The information age, seems to be suited for me, I can't get enough of it, it floods my mind and nerves, Reading wikipedia and blogs for hours and You tube And im…
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92540
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“Your mother enjoyed apples and made you wear unfashionable pants; she was a bitch. From now on we eat only candy bars and we wear only shorts. But first, four hours of video games!”
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92552
|
We head home, skirting along the coast,
humble before catapulting waves;
the lighthouse near invisible
if not for a single band of red.
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92500
|
The paper
in his typewriter
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92522
|
We’d sometimes find my mother asleep in her chair outside her trailer at the nudist camp when we drove up. She loved her garden there, even with the rabbits eating her young tomato plants. She used to coax the bluebirds down to the railing of her trailer
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92511
|
Could I cache your kisses?
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925106
|
I have enjoyed three paid teaching days in Minnesota, since my return in 1996. All three paid days were fielded through S.A.S.E., all three at Patrick Henry. I loved it there. I hope never to become certified to teach.
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92501
|
She BENDS over and retrieves a bag that says POTATO CHIPS on it. Her dress is vaguely sweaty.
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92510
|
Whether the girl was found fleeing and abducted into a short life of inexcusable torment or she escaped from the paths of Kulowul, the kingdom would fall in a matter of days.
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92411
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Writers, in general, enjoy the solitude that their profession allows, or more precisely, requires. I consider myself a member of that generalized group, along with a more exclusive club of writers who also tolerate an occasional…
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92400
|
"You're my husband, for chrissake!"
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92421
|
Even at five years old, I could tell that Eloise was haunted by ghosts that shook her core, leaving her dangling and seeking stability in slowly repeating her compulsive routines.
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92487
|
Sometimes he would get up at night, go outside, and stand in the middle of their back yard.
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