989 0 0
|
Randall had created Raoul to enjoy the freedom of being another person, but this became his second life crisis.
|
989116
|
The woman broke the law with that scream. I would say that there was pleasure in it, for her. I would also estimate that ten or fifteen men saw it, ten or fifteen men plus me.
|
98944
|
fade away
glorious, golden
delicious
|
98974
|
Life is meagre with me; I am unsatisfied and left always begging for __________.
|
98841
|
They had to dress normal, my other boyfriends, be beardless, hairless, everything torn away, plucked, shorn smooth, because it elicited moisture on the tongue (when I was with you.) But I grew bored as the day before I first saw you.
|
98811
|
In 1609 Ben Jonson was hired to write a work in celebration of the opening of a new shopping mall.
|
98700
|
The sexuality comes over us in waves. We need to hold things, someone. The women, the men, side by side, our features blending together. We notice the small curved lines at the corners of the mouth. We notice everything. And the animal is still inside m
|
98700
|
Morning. A hot bright sun shines down on the cool dark depths of the deep blue sea.
|
98786
|
the little white lights i see
mean many different things to me
|
98711
|
Like Smart’s cat Jeoffrey,
he’s a mixture of gravity and waggery.
|
98740
|
Julie had a thousand freckles the
color of mud.
|
98700
|
It was just after lunch when they found the box.
|
98711
|
the rain on the windowhammers out a symphonyfor ninety Underwoodsand oh what a savage performanceit does take to soothe this beast
|
98700
|
|
98732
|
I dream empty, the wind blowing benzene blue. Shards of glass. Barbed wire. Bricks crushing flame into notions gone quick, never painless. Is it my blood? In my eyes. On my hands. Is it for you? I'm not sure where I'm walking here. Walking towards what from. Is it…
|
98600
|
Being forced to spend blood money on libations isn't stoic.
It's shitty.
|
98611
|
artifacts gone obsolete / miscegenating in suspension
|
98640
|
She is left feeling like she has missed a stop, that she's at the last stop, that she's somewhere she wasn't meant to be.
|
98620
|
Your steering wheel is hot.You don't feel it though, I mean,It tingles some but it doesn't have that crawling, stinging feelingLike the way you'd feel it if they hadn't called.Not the way other people in Arizona feel it.You don't feel you or her or anything in…
|
98600
|
I was still18 years old when the plane landed in South Korea. It was 10AM, Friday. Stepping off the jet way, it could have been any airport in America. But it wasn't. As soon as we got in the airport we were hustled to Customs. Filled out a bunch of forms. Asked…
|
98687
|
and I revel in the fact. There are other facts at work and play, but I'm hanging out with this one because it is my day off and I'm listening to music and writing poems. I like the bright appearance coming from the bedroom…
|
98642
|
(From Postcards fom a Railway Station (final poem)) No lights shine out tonight high hung in heaven: And the constellations like a dead man fall. No sight of polar eyes, whose sons are seven, And I stand unthinking and beyond it all I own it all a…
|
98522
|
Pick, pick, pick. Scabrous flesh comes off. Goes into mouth. Picking like a drone. This is my leg. It tastes a little salty. Iron apparent. Partner sits across the room, on his laptop, begging. I can't stop widening the pit. Partner goes to kitchen, eats…
|
985146
|
|
98596
|
|
98565
|
The woman who lives on the first floor once loved dancing naked for her lovers.
|
98563
|
Spring break that year, (1963) I spent nearly every minute with Lynda. Her taste for sex was unquenchable once we’d gotten started. We did it in every position possible. The sitting position in the front seat of the car, which my brother Herb had to expla
|
98520
|
Through by the sands and the rocks we were going and the lake liquid had tumbled the stones by the thousands so that while the water was still we could see agates and yellow jaspers and other or even the odd and misspent piece of rounded glass green or white safe…
|
98500
|
This was supposed to be a love letter written by a content writer, then it just got weird.
|
98521
|
1. So this is how the Western world ends, with a shrug:Great lanes extinguished of the lamps that yearned Once for tomorrows turnstiled as agog We watch you, Paris, long rejected, burned- If without flame from exiled …
|
