2095 15 16
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I forget you. Upfront: that’s how this ends.
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209561
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Holly Hope had met Latest Girlfriend once and was
pleased to see that the woman wore stylish dresses, even if
the end results looked like Liz Claiborne had tried to clothe
a cigarette machine.
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209453
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That was the first time I went over the wall. No bird opened its mouth to chirp. No wind blew. I staggered a little on the stony edge.
And dropped down. I changed in a cafe. Shaved. Emerged as that rare thing: a new man. My clothes were old, saved for
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20946524
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The second thing Annie Riser did after receiving her diagnosis was to find a realtor in the Yellow Pages and put her house up for sale.
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209442
|
Some of the guys wear earplugs. They wear ‘em because they don’t wanna hear it. Oscar Livitt fucking. Nobody looks.
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209355
|
I used to charm you,
hold you in my hand.
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2093144
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I still walk into galleries. A shadow of my old self still walks into galleries. That old self was hungry to be wounded by the juxtaposition of color and form and texture and line and darkness and light. But I can no longer see art. I can…
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20922421
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These days, even God has a day job.
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209264
|
Our banter has shifted, like wading from the shallow to the deep end. He taps his foot. “Your underwear reminded me of my grandma’s underwear.”
|
2092107
|
Every dive bar has a Max. Max is an elderly man. He wears a dented ball cap. He sits at the end of the bar, right along where it curves and then slams into the wall. You may find it cliché, but when Max enters the room, the patrons actually announce, “
|
20914112
|
Within seconds, I strip her free of all that she wears. Her toes are polished the color of plump pink tulips.
|
20892716
|
"A prostitute of the Hotel Khadijah in Rahab fell in love with my father...."
|
20892618
|
I am complicit in the darkness
|
2089116
|
(originally appeared in Lit Up)http://litupmagazine.wordpress.com/poetry/rusty-barnes/Remind me never to call youagain after you get home late,for the familiar fear of the deadbolt noise,the shifty creak of your linoleum floor,the way you throw your jacket overthe sofa and…
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2088114
|
1987. Recently, I told a teenager who was smoking a cigarette in an elevator that he should put it out. “You a cop?” he asked.
|
208850
|
I’m told it hurts. It hurts more than anyone ever thought it would. Every light in the room blinds you. Every sound in the room deafens you. The pain is excruciating as muscles and nerves that aren’t meant to work anymore are forced back to life i
|
208885
|
It was beautiful and bright and it felt so real.
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20872622
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After this last death, I lose at musical chairs. Rough strangers shove me toward the carved door. Feeling fierce, I yell, “Don't push me!” House racked with noise, smells, rushing, I turn the…
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20863526
|
On Friday nights I'm not there.
|
208643
|
I. When I was young, my best friend was only three inches high. He was chubby, always cheerful, and very funny. He didn't start out as anything much. I always imagined he came into being in a small factory, in China, at the mercy of two small, yellow hands and a …
|
208644
|
When Charlie woke up he couldn’t find his inner Charlie.
|
20852215
|
There's a mutual recognition...
|
208564
|
|
20853216
|
If when he pulled his lips from mine he didn’t say a word, and if he didn’t try to explain or try to win me with bullshit...
|
20841613
|
Confused, I paused and locked eyes with the girl who’d just bounced it with the long, dark hair. “I just saw you with it.”
She stared back at me. “Do you see it in my hands now?”
|
20841511
|
is every word is a small step takenaway from you that arcs back to me likea mamba's mouth. I'm not going aroundin place so much as running in circles. You can see my devilry here. You arethe truth here and that makes me the lie. You'renew morning. I'm much, much more…
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20842213
|
Pretty boy looks over at me and grins, got a smoke?
|
208401
|
Gordon He pressed the side of his face to the pillow and waited for the sound of birds. The room was black, the window open; when a breeze came the curtains billowed out against a lighter sky. He heard the clock. He heard the dry sound of Helen breathing;…
|
20831515
|
for Bill YarrowPoetry is a way of breathingagainst the enemy's chest withoutlosing consciousness again. Itis a ghost dance. Poetry is tobe determined by the plight of bees.Poetry is a waterfall ona mailing list. I've never tasteda finer whiskey than poetry.Poetry is half…
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2083108
|
I drink with my thinking problem intact.
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