1092 2 1
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What the fuck is that smell? Puke? Pine-Sol? Oh shit!Back seat of a cop car.Again?What is it this time?“Excuse me, officer? Where the fuck are my clothes?”
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109265
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The superhero is out there in the fields, discovering herself.
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109221
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Floozy Walks Into a Bar
Toting a handbag the size of a small suitcase
Because you never know
Floozy Walks Into a Bar
Dragging her reputation behind her
And everyone looks behind her too
Floozy Walks Into a Bar
To test the temperature of
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1091225
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1091146
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109154
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"Tell me what you remember."
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109110
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The empty faces in the crowd all mumbled...
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109144
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Wheels are spinning
On the country roads tonight
I’m driving all alone
No one else in sight
And the wind’s in my hair
And I don’t care
Yeah, the wind’s in my hair
And I don’t care
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109141
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in making your sad blown apart hearts rise up and squeeze out the kindness juices ever so sweetly anymore. Tried that. Didn't work out too well, not for me, wasn't a BIG time of waste, but did eat up some important wee…
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109100
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Aleister Crowley walks in and all of a sudden the bar's filled with angels and demons and pagan things. Wood nymphs and stuff like that. Wittgenstein, to his credit, keeps cool. He just stands over there next to the dart machine, pointing at things and naming them. Like…
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109110
|
I invented a game called Church & State
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109100
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The canvas bag lay crumpled and moaning in the middle of the room as Mister and Miss Marital Bliss contemplated what to do to it next. Spots of deep crimson blossomed like spring flowers all over the white sack and a large pool had gathered underneath. Rivulets of blood…
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109131
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I killed it.
Didn't even relocate it back to its outdoor home, as I had work to do.
This is being human.
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109165
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Forget the salt erasure of Carthage,/
all the Meso-American artifacts/
smelted to float the Armada
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109142
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Below them, the clag shears open in irregular patches, the lights of Seattle resolving themselves through the thinning overcast then vanishing again by turns.
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109122
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My chin is half-eaten. My chest is gone. There is a rhythm to how each flame licks me. Like how you used to in the mornings before work. Before the coffee. Before the toaster. Before a rose clenched between your teeth and dancing.
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109000
|
Dust and blood and disgust
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109040
|
Why is this woman smiling?
Because she’s the Real Mona Lisa,
that’s why
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109022
|
But then there were car windows
bashed out on both sides
Glass on the ground
like Kristallnacht
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109010
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my tiny white world, the cube in the closet in the back above the shelving in a secret compartment cut into the wall
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109032
|
About four in the afternoon
a pigeon began admiring itself
in the shiny panel of a car door
until another pigeon came along
and it quit acting foolish.
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109020
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A thrill seeker before midnight - but closer to twilight ...
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109000
|
I look at her
really look
we both know her time is fading
"I'm just sad that you won't be there."
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109000
|
This is no age for love; this is a time for discovery. So no time for me to sit around my candle is slowly burning, while wind combs my hair. If this is what loves comes to then I predict in the eventuality of me being an old woman by the sea living with her friend, the…
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108912
|
Do you know if you were actually speaking to me there?
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108910
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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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108921
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I dreamt my legs were stirring the air up behind your back, as you lay between my thighs. Stirring the air repetitively, like a sea anemone stirring the water to feed the soul, the hunger between the legs and arms, for new life.
Stirring up the salt
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108900
|
On the parking lot of the bar, two in the afternoonYou notice the battered car, dented up body of a Ford escort,No hubcaps, plastic in two of windows,It yells a story to youA familiar storyHead into the bar2 O' clock in the afternoonIt's a nice, sunny, warm Saturday…
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108921
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There was a bottleneck ahead. We slowed down single-file, me behind, to wait our turn to pass the doorway of a vacant storefront church. In it, a lone black man sat atop an empty plastic milk crate. Nobody looked at him; they were all slowing down and cro
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1089127
|
“She's the year of the horse,” Metri said as he peeled his dirty head from the bed, his hair was as matted as a racoon tale. It was as wild as a wild animal and smelled like body odor with a hint of blood. He slid his scabbed hands up to his chest as if to…
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