1091 3 0
|
The concrete guy’s truck is parked in front of your house. There’s nothing for him to be doing there except your wife.
|
109130
|
“Hello, I’m Marlene, and this is April,” says the older of two women. Both Marlene and April wear ankle length dresses. The name Hester Prynne flashes through my mind.
|
109110
|
I remember so many things … do you remember who I am yet? I attached pictures to jog your memory, including the house on Euclid where I lived.
That’s my high school graduation photo. I was wearing my hair short that year, and blonde and natural,
|
109142
|
(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…
|
109032
|
|
109011
|
It all had to begin somewhere; some moment of time and space which arose in perfection- and dissolved into the now. It was a beginning he couldn't quite remember, couldn't grasp onto- it simply sifted through his fingers, sand floating away with the wind. That's not to say…
|
10901712
|
Matt was among those rare creatures; an ideal kind of reader ...
|
109033
|
“Hey! You can’t be
whistling on Greyhound,”
the bus driver said,
looking up
in the rearview mirror.
|
109011
|
Once,
To a crash slumber on my bed, so late,
I learned my pillow could communicate.
As I lay my head of lead at the head of the bed,
My talking pillow said,
"Let me be the foundations for the constructions of your dreams...
|
109000
|
It could be there is a little me, somewhere, truth be known. One time in Laguna Beach I slept with a girl I met at this café, the Jolly Roger, I think, when we went back to my apartment and had unprotected sex. She said she was on the pill, but you neve
|
1090158
|
|
109051
|
the Coke made his butt leak blood
|
108910
|
Shit, I guess I'm gonna hafta
|
1089148
|
A.The poem of rational progression is dulling.Make the leap. Go beyond juxtaposition to collision.We like poetry that does double duty, triple duty, quadruple duty. We like poetry that mixes the grit, poetry that has the texture of complexity.Reason asserts an…
|
108910
|
but at least I wasn't drinking as much anymore.
|
108900
|
"Come into my face." said Duras famously as she neared death. This is very beautiful. If one takes Duras to speak of something akin to the 'face' as given us by Levinas, and we may display this face here as something like an Husserlian universal…
|
108900
|
TimeDoesnt existWe're told it existThe sun rises and fallAnd people exist for the eight Hour dayBut time does not existHuman beings put TIME in their lives To give it order Most people always seem to be looking for order!!Amidst the chaosIt goes very fast for someVery slow…
|
108900
|
I know you want to hold me. I won't break. I love you. Your hands - when they caress me are soft and gentle. My words speak only to you. They speak of love and of how we spend…
|
108998
|
What will become/
of the resource-sucking poor
|
10891310
|
By the end of my Saturday night shift at the Oyster Bar I look like some kind of filthy nurse
|
1089118
|
|
108911
|
As Susan drove the last stretch home, she couldn't help but press the accelerator a bit deeper than usual. Her car zipped passed the neighborhood houses, which were of mostly brick construction, with two car garages and freshly mulched islands of spring flowers.…
|
108900
|
This girl had burn scars on her body which hurt a little, to be touched, so we had to be real careful, gentle. I turned her over slowly so as not to shatter her. She wanted to be fucked, badly. But only one time. It was enough to be handled again like bef
|
108820
|
Apparently we must endure them forever, the gods. My willingness to live among them, and love, with their high-pitched voices. To endure or be endured equally, each one of the Fates, each one of the high hearers stammering out the certainty of their lov
|
108800
|
Weeds, schist, an Artesian well: élan in a heavenly forge. Sniffling goats, a mossy cairn. A portal divides the void. There is a human hand here below the crumbling parapet. The crotch of time A bridge between…
|
108821
|
The moon has a cloud pass before it. The strop has a razor pulled up-and-down, up-and-down, up and down against it.
|
108843
|
On the way to
The Museum of Inner Light
Expect delays
Expect bumps in the road
Expect potholes and such
Expect a murder of crows
Rolling acorns over the rooftops
But what I want to know is who
Who eats a butterfly
On the way to
|
108842
|
To be free of pain. Is that what we all want?
|
108810
|
The north street was always a mean part of Port Neches. Too far up for oil company patrols ...
|
108800
|
I woke up on my back with my face in the sunlight and thought, I guess this must be heaven, it was so bright out. Except for the buzzing of the insects. They will always bring you back to earth.
|
