Most read stories

After the Shark

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each to his / secret dream of the thing

food-cheated muscles recalling their sex

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What a world I imagined! Lacking organized armies, resting at noontime under a canopy made gentle by passing, natural creatures with large warm eyes, set afire by the influence of constant lust and destruction. Turned to marble by love. Who wouldn’t wan

The Dead Make Plans

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The dead tongues chuckle/ in Etruscan

Every Morning There's the Breast

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Every morning there’s the breast and the nipples of ecstasy It is not the spider’s fault that it is mesmerized by the web Blame nature, blame God Doesn’t the alley cat automatically know how to howl? Don’t blame me if I am addicted t

Exercises in the A of B

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poem?

But the Heart Loves Chaos

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The mind likes logic, but the heart loves chaos. The light is always on in Reality, isn’t it? Maybe I sought you out to make sense of my life, I don’t know. Maybe I wanted some sense that you were still how I remembered you (at least a little of you tha

bramble

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i don't know

pop music till yer brains bulge blue!

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every color of sound turned to green / human beasts’ treadmill tastes must be trained: / we may yet starve to death, but we’ll die de-brained!

They Were RICHEY-RICH!!! (Part IV-tham, and FINAL!)

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[.......]

Deus Ex Mama

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Charlie is hollering about Rex again. Every dinosaur right now is Rex. Also Rex: every animal with thick-looking skin--elephants, crocodiles. (Yesterday, he pointed to an ant and told me, "Buggy Rex.")

I'm Despondent, Yes...

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Do you remember who Laura S was? She was the one who tore out Shel’s heart. (It so happened that she was one of Lynda’s closest friends, and knew all her secrets.) Shel started seeing a shrink after Laura dumped him, and he would go around s

A Journal of the Plague Year, Day 193

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More thoughts on denial...

Tough Love in 1978

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The secret government may run her like a pellet through birdshot fire at anyone where everyone is a bread basket or hooligan. He was in prison because he owned a gun then sold it.

Counting the Stars

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Everybody's trying to just not get killed. Cut flowers. It's an illusion. The grand smell of our deathly beauty. They were so afraid of the ghost dance once upon a burning time that they decided on murder to get it to stop. Those were the days. That's…

Fire Alarm

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You snore and the house is safe again.

gravelortian part 19

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Uproot everything, a muddy hole when done

Still More Rock Groups I have Known

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More Rock Groups I Have Known and/or Been In

The Fourth Prague Defenestration: 3

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Then Vladimir asked Ellen if she wanted to try out the dungeon. And she looked at me, and smiled. “Well, yes.” “What?” I said. “No, Ellen, no! Do not let him lock you in here, whatever you do.” “Do not worry. Do not worry. I am Janovsky, no? I hav

InSiDe

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dreaming in my cartoon life the car lifts its legs a hundred feet in the air

Where Has All the Laughter Gone?

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The despair that comes and goes is here again I saw a woman who was holding herself As she walked past, as if a fire were about to Lunge out of her parts She was in such great need of being held The despair that comes and goes is here again

Supermarket Blues

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Man on aisle nine looking for the answer to cancer Will the partially clothed couple on aisle four please put the rest of their clothing back on If you are finished doing whatever it was you were doing? Man on aisle five trying to imagine Whil

After Holidays

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I am bound behind the bars of my own domesticity, / by this banana, and pea soup, and wilted cabbage

Sunlight Falling Directly On Her Body

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The fine blond hairs lift slightly along the skin of your arms As you nod, listening to him. The veins On your arms standing up as well I was caught in an off moment because of your skin Because of the way moisture beads up on it The youthful fi

Long Walks On the Beach: Song

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I don’t like long walks on the beach Or sand between my toes Jellyfish stinging my butt Saltwater up my nose I don’t like long lingering glances But I sure like fancy pantses And yes, a bum without a bottle Is like a car without a throttl

Market Day

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I'd rather slit my wrists with a Triscuit...

(One Hundred Minus Ninety Equals) Ten Jetpacks for the Lonely

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1. And so, another top heavy day within the sworn to camp enemies of a purely human musical swamp, who want only to own the essences of that ancient sweet fragrance, like all the others, and sell it back to us at a tidy profit, which…

The Last Thing

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The last thing I remember is falling below the water, lungs filling with liquid.

Ace Reporter

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God, how I smite them.

God Works Out of A Home Office

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with binoculars neighbor reads screen text:

Poetry, Inc.

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It comes to our attention you have what it takes to join our enterprise.