952 9 7
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No one believed me when I told them this: I took all of my novels and tossed them into the fire.
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95232
|
No matter how many times
flies land on butter
they will never become
butterflies
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95210
|
Split streams displace a spliced and shattered walkman with no connection of its dead batteries, projected into Styrofoam and plastic mirrors before hitting the brook water. Michael finds way, out of breath, eclipsed by an elm, his eyes visible with pupil
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95143
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I love that moment in Hamlet when the Ghost first appears. It seems so real, thanks in large measure to Horatio's sober outlook & initial skepticism. It's really happening. Their eyes are popping out of their heads. And it makes me wonder, how would I react if I…
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95143
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The bum had abandoned
More than half of his rich
Chocolate cake
In the bottom of the shopping cart
The wording on the top of the cake read
"Happy Birthday Doug"
But it also read
"From Doug"
Either he was too full
To eat his own words
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95121
|
The boys back in the rental office must be wondering why we haven’t left yet. Maybe they thought we just wanted to sit in the car and listen to music.
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951127
|
“Hrrumph!” was almost audible as she turned/
to sniff behind the chifferobe for fresh/
green trophies.
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95086
|
When I asked her about her husband, she laughed.
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95043
|
On the phone I asked my mother how she was doing.
“I’m getting old,” she said. “Going slow. But getting there. I’m ninety-four!”
My mother was always 94, when she was really 93. I remember she was 93, right after she turned 92. And 92 when she was
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95021
|
don’t let them take away our youth, even if we have to beat the paint out of birds the way we did when we were young. I knew we could do anything, so let’s go back into that world and describe the new dawn all over again, even if we have to use the frozen
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95020
|
I don’t like telling stories. I’m far too honest and give far too many things away.
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95085
|
Yes sir, I confess there have been timeswhen I did not care how young the earth isor take pride in how she sprang back to greenregardless of how hard the snow fought.There have been times, yes, when I lacked the willto notice such things and knew that belowthe water's…
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95065
|
That was the year I got my Daisy bee-bee gun for Christmas....
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95052
|
She wondered why people would spend hard-earned money on a television when they could look up at the sky for free and trace the images that had inspired poets.
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9491110
|
"Is a dream a lie if it don't come true, or is…
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94933
|
You may want to know
who wrote the book of love, but
all I really want to know is who,
who sprayed the dinosaurs with graffiti?
Not some poser
Not some Svengali
Not some last minute
giraffe
Not someone from the all girl’s band
kn
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94900
|
Mine lasted 90 days. But don't they all? After we made love the first time, it was early November, I remember, some internal part of me shot upward with a laughter that would not stop. Something…
|
94900
|
what happens to literature's characters when their readers traverse the veil?
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94931
|
The only thoughts that come are old ones that are so needy they keep circling through for attention
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94800
|
The last time I was with Terry, she surprised me by crossing herself just before we had sex. She too had been going out with this Mario pimp, with his ski boat out on Fox River. The guy who was going around sniffing after most (if not all) of my old gir
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94820
|
1. There is a crowd of people walking to a field and since there are over forty of them, the conversations become divided and then subdivided in accordance w/natural rhythms. I follow behind. It is a football game. Makeshift. Twenty aside roughly. Almost every…
|
94811
|
In the morning that same girl I’d seen gave me a tangerine...
|
94821
|
A reddening? A certain swelling, a little passion among them, is there? What lips would not have given what they could, to speak more boldly, more fondly of you now? But now the country is fastened to arrogance, welded to it in an evil way, wanton with violent…
|
94810
|
|
94800
|
"In the shit the dogs circle, talking of a dead bitch, maybe Merkel" - Michelangelo's poem of a stultified flower that never emulsifies, an orange California poppy of pink-gold drenched in urine and a horse in either burns bright whinnies and trollops neigh a pipping…
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947129
|
The sirens didn’t eat the sailors
|
94700
|
It is always midnight in my heart; / and melancholy advances from handsome men / only take place in my mind...
|
94762
|
That new rain smell in your backyard, specifically I remember that, with you. And lying in the grass in a park with you on the 4th of July, maybe in Lombard, watching the blue/grey smoke of the fireworks drifting overhead after they went off, and the sm
|
94753
|
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94630
|
A salesman, a born salesman like my brother, is always and only involved in the Moment, and it is the sale itself that is at the heart of the moment, and my brother Harris was really at the top of his form as a salesman. It can probably best be said, th
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