1009 3 3
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Wasn’t that you
Giving me the finger
Or was it just
A dead ringer
For the finger of love?
Finger of love
Finger of love
Did you find someone’s dog do
On your doorstep last night
Something didn’t smell right
In the middle of the night
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100820
|
So, the sweet beast of idle speculation may be calling my name by memory, because I am capable of feeling, or suffering. I may be a conduit to such, because the rational soul provides the bridge. Some wild ass summoning your name, clean, uncovered, disc
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100833
|
Can you remember how we could each disappear completely. . . .
|
100843
|
ride crests and troughs of ceaseless change, / without delight but without fear, / and once it’s time to leave, then simply go, /
without regret, with no unseemly fuss.
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100811
|
I woke up and rolled over to look at my clock. Realizing I was not in my bed, I looked around the dark room for any clock. There on the ceiling, the time was displayed in red digital numbers. 5:30 am. I stayed at a friend's…
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100860
|
The absence sits on the window sillIt looks like the tree growing in front of itlimbs long and crookedwretched clocktime passes like torn silkShe sits at the mirror looking past thingsHer TV blasts the newsconfront the questionCovid -19 The vaccinationTrump is…
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1007137
|
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100754
|
This caused a problem when some raccoons, skunks and a fox were found lingering on and around the premises (separately, of course).
|
100774
|
Later, at home, on the internet, I assemble fragments of street celebrations from cities one coast to the other. I watch them and listen in the compressed fidelity of computer speakers. How strangely things feel.
|
100700
|
The surveyor began at the mouth of the Klamath and worked his way toward the mining camp. He'd expected to find a trail, but for most of the way he hacked through dense underbrush. The river shrubs clambered into the water, just skimming its surface. There were…
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100733
|
They’ve got sketches for
The invention of the middle finger
At the Museum for
The Gathering Clouds of Innocence
So, why not go there and get a feeling
For the meaning behind everything?
Okay, here’s the truth
I was so busy giving people th
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100633
|
My mouth is orange rind and whiskey, my tongue a cocktail cherry.
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100600
|
I'd been sleeping on a couch. It was the couch of another artist, a friend, the kind of friend who makes you want to think in star patterns that dance across galaxies and warm distant life forms that are impossible to see. This friend made me feel more like…
|
100644
|
The Guy Behind Me
only had one item.
And he looked too young
to fully grasp
Loneliness.
|
100630
|
Oh, no!
the lobster’s still alive
staring out at us
from the freezer
at the fish shop
sitting on top
of the other dead fish
and ice
its large claws taped shut
with orange rubber
bands
one eye stalk
moving occasionally
wonde
|
100573
|
Were the coffee and gas not cheap,/
and in the case of the coffee, good,/
I’d never stop again.
|
100500
|
This is what we will remember of each other. Right here. Another night where we prepare ourselves, as the full moon rises through the murky blue and smoke-filled sky, where the rose mist simmers above the land. And you are out there, somewhere. Only our
|
100521
|
RE: The big stuff: We don’t know
RE: The small stuff:
Half of what you believe is true
but you will never know which half
|
100511
|
He leans forward across the cafe table,
holding both of her hands,
and tries to kiss her on the lips,
but she pulls back, making him beg for it.
Then she kisses the top of his downturned head.
Beg for it he will, and she knows it.
Now he
|
100553
|
I tried to drain the ocean
But only got a waterfall
I tried to drain the sky
But only got a thunderstorm
I got lightning
I got rain
I had to build a city
By blowing on the palm of my hand
The sands rose up
The dust blew away
And all
|
100500
|
Neverfull There are still things out there I haven't seen— a mere tadpole blindly clinging to the base of the pond. I reach for every star in the inkwell but none are close enough— even on toes tickling the edge you'll never…
|
100432
|
I can hear my heart
in this empty field;
I feel it burn
against the wall of my chest.
|
1004100
|
I’ve previously tried the old-fashioned route to get my books reviewed, calling up editors, asking friends who work at newspapers and magazines to put in a good word for me, stalking . . . I mean, contacting freelancers.
|
100422
|
Living dangerously,
I left my house with no glasses,
no umbrella.
I also forgot my straw hat,
no purple dye for my gray hair,
my map of the world to come,
|
1003135
|
Dawn is spreading its pink and blue colours over the morning. Pleasant hues, with children playing and birds chattering. A light morning, without commitments, without waves, open to promises. Mornings don't speak our language and don't make the same gestures. They speak a…
|
100311
|
Who's that? I don't know. …
|
100221
|
Whenever I go shopping,
I am trying my best not to be overwhelmed
by an Andy Warhol experience.
This is not like your typical Orwellian
Big Brother experience,
like when enormous Chairman Mao posters
appear out of nowhere,
keeping an eye
|
100274
|
All along scared of the lovesickness finding me. I'm not proud of sending that sweet choir on its way without a kind word chopped into its begging cup. Who cares? I'm scared. The problem is this house; it's sad. I notice when someone floats…
|
100211
|
And the promises of promises
|
100286
|
There will be no more internal birds like singing clocks, not like the lovely ones I know and still look forward to hearing, ringing like little bells in the church y belfry of the newly sprouting mornings to come, not unless the birds…
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