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Topsy was a flip flopper ...
Topsy was a crazy complainer.
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"Excuse me. I believe you have a little something falling from your right nostril there," he said, pointing with his pinky.
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I am not thelargest animalin the forest because theforest itselfis an animal but I am theonly thing the shape of me ********************************************** Faerie She was tiny and bright andwhen I touched her…
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And then she'd wipe her eyes, sweep her hair between the crest of her left ear and the side of her face and press that ear to the knot.
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My life isn't exactly what you'd call glamorous. Hell it's not even good. Not like that bathroom cabinet, getting cleaned every other day and handled like it's made of glass.No, my life is literally full of shit. They come, they sit, they shit. On the good days, I'm lucky…
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My backyard was first Grass tickling my bare feet Skipping along the bottoms of my toes. I broke my arm there; I always hurt myself Swinging. The fair was next, grownup kids Having adult fun Eating carnival food and drinking grownup things When no one was looking. …
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I sulk across the room to feed you,hold your hand, tell you everything will be fine. It is the right time of night,the light from the street falls onto the chairat the perfect angle. I look at you, gray, shimmering, persnickety. Don't move, thisis just the dust, helping me…
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The gecko instinctively knew that if he moved, he was dead.
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He cut a hole in the sack
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102311
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We are / packed in a speck of dust / adrift across the universe, / revolving an ember.
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102322
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Heading for the fields one morning to paint haystacks, Vincent noticed his neighbor’s house ablaze.
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102333
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"I don’t know what to do. I need to catch the 11:30 train, but what is the difference between doing it today or tomorrow?"
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I toyed with the idea of suicide, then quickly cast it off. Death wouldn’t be interesting. Liberating, perhaps, but not interesting. I hadn’t yet lived enough to die.
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among and begin / bouquets
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In need of help, he bought his first self-help book at the age of twenty-nine.
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102311
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What about the poor nobodies to somebodies being tossed like wet rags onto more wet rags?
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Yet tenderness resided here
among the canvases,
the tubes of paint, brushes, and candle wax;
the splatters of discarded ideas.
We made love the way people said prayers
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102342
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My dad was in a barber training school
where they cut off the tip of a bum's ear
and taped it back on with scotch tape
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the visual field is an in-rushing city of refractions bouncing across the water.
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And now for a word from
Hitler’s Younger Brother, the Mohel
Well, half brother really
He was always such an embarrassment to the Hitler family
Always climbing the infinite tree of hope
Against the permanent limb of gravity
No gratitude or all
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He fished a tissue from a hidden pocket and dabbed his forehead, then called the cops.
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The little Lady and I drove down to New Orleans to take in the Mardi Gras festivities we’d read so much about.
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"Love is just a word I've heard when things are being said"--James.TaylorThat thing that is empty now is me. I never thought I'd disappear, so crazily far from being myself. The love key has been thrown away, dropped without much fanfare. I carried…
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It’s always daylight there
My brother comes running down the sidewalk
holding out his arms and calling my name
He’s wearing suspenders. He’s gotten thinner
in heaven
He embraces me warmly
wanting us to be friends
I give up trying to resist
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She has almost-black eyes and auburn hair and round brown nipples that are always taut – as though in anticipation. I don’t know what color auburn is. I just know that’s the word that comes to mind when I look at her hair.
She calls herself Mama Legb
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We broke our hearts rather than sit in your reversible seats with the plain brown paper packages tied on our laps, we did so together. You don't want to hear about that. It gets too close to the actual murder of love. I…
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but isn't that the case
in most long-term,
committed
relationships?
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Why is this woman smiling?
Because she’s the Real Mona Lisa,
that’s why
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It is absurd to think that a cockroach will wake up one day as a human. And it is certainly surreal to imagine that a fat pigeon in Paris, New York or Rome, say, or even Prague, will one day take up a pen and begin writing poetry, or wave the wand of phil
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