| 838  3  2   
 | In the early days of the atmosphere there was less dirt, and the rain had trouble falling. There were no stoplights on earth, only rivers of white light. Early man and birds collided in the upper air, because everything was clear and light like a feather. | 
		
		
			| 837  4  3   
 | From decade to decade, editorial opinion swings and sways as to whether the fault of volubility resides chiefly with the practitioner or with the lawless company he keeps. | 
		
		
			| 837  7  6   
 | In  the summer of '68 my father persuaded me to go visit my grandparents on  their farm in North Dakota. I had long hair and dressed like a French symbolist  outlaw. Took the train to Minot, spent the night in a hotel (watching Your  Cheatin' Heart, movie about Hank… | 
		
		
			| 837  2  2   
 | 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, 
 | 
		
		
			| 837  0  0   
 | Your silence is beckoningDrawing us nearThere's truth in a silenceCome over hereTell me your secretsTell me your liesTell me the reasonWhy happy clowns cry...And put on a show for the people to seeAnd why people watch them and want to believeThat the illusion is real and… | 
		
		
			| 837  3  3   
 | It started with crows. I'd walk the switchback trail  to the top of the park with its outlook of the city and if I didn't see any  crows I'd whistle and they'd come swarming from everywhere. I'd give the  peanuts a toss and the crows would caw their heads off and peck at… | 
		
		
			| 837  5  3   
 | 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  | 
		
		
			| 837  2  1   
 | If ever there was a fire left smoldering, it was you. If ever there was a chance in hell to fan the flames and break out into a bonfire of the vanities, it was you. It was you in a heartbeat, and it was you for all time. I knew it the second you entered | 
		
		
			| 836  7  6   
 | Marcel Proust had never been to a big-box store before.  He was dazzled by the sheer size and scope of the store and the seeming  impassivity of the shoppers. So many products, so many shelves, such strangely  intriguing examples of the human condition. The people seemed… | 
		
		
			| 836  1  1   
 | I had a dream where everybody was dressed in paper. By the end of the day there was a long line of people waiting for new clothing, since what we had on was torn to shreds during the day. Our uniforms hanging from our bodies. We all looked unwrapped. Pa | 
		
		
			| 836  0  0   
 | It was the middle of the night when she started hearing voices. 
She thought the voice was saying, “Hello Dolly, Hello Dolly,” and that was when she called the building manager. 
It was the middle of the night, but he came up to her apartment anyway, be | 
		
		
			| 836  3  1   
 | She read her briefs as she sat at the café table in her smart dark blue suit, and she altered the wording on the briefs in front of her, and she would check the watch at her wrist as if there were a pulse there: Am I still alive, yes. Am I still alive,  | 
		
		
			| 836  0  0   
 | Sure I dress funny sometimes, but I have an excuse–I don’t give a shit. | 
		
		
			| 835  0  0   
 | I remember a painting of a young girl (this could have been me) who had just given birth. She was almost smiling while she slept. Her upper lip was violet with exhaustion. One hand left up behind her head where it was thrown during the exertion of birth | 
		
		
			| 835  4  3   
 | Someone has locked themselves in the large stall 
They’re smoking one cigarette after another 
And pulling long stretches of toilet paper off the rolls 
God only knows for what purpose 
And yelling for anyone who’s outside the stall 
To go get them | 
		
		
			| 835  7  4   
 |  | 
		
		
			| 835  10  5   
 |  | 
		
		
			| 835  1  1   
 | We would walk to the gallery opening along the Highline, looking in all the windows in the evening, hoping to see life as it’s lived in the moment, the flesh, the mystery, with all the clothes of unreason removed, hoping to see the exposed nipple and the  | 
		
		
			| 834  6  5   
 |  tentacles of stringy rains opens up the stage antics for this common February day to the fidgety audience at hand but it appears that they just won't be able to grab on, not this time. The  familiar grumpy wind with… | 
		
		
			| 834  13  9   
 | I'm complex. You're complex. We're  all complex.Who gives a shit? Man's fallen and he  can't get up.I consulted Jacques the Atheist for  advice: he toldme to beat it. "But I lack the  proper stigma!" I cried.Once a month, I volunteer at the  dressage parlor.On Tuesdays, I… | 
		
		
			| 834  4  5   
 | Whatever the world is it is alsoyou. This leaves me smiling. I'm glad you arein it. I'm glad for the deepest colorblue like the Mediterranean sea,for instance. Baby orangutans. Forclouds and mushrooms and seahorses. Songs fromtreetops. Whatever the world has it has… | 
		
		
			| 833  9  8   
 | I came suddenly awake and the rain was beating a furious rhythm on the rooftops, like a thousand shaken tambourines, like a thousand angry mojaves. | 
		
		
			| 833  0  0   
 | Her condition was giving her the blues
‘Cause her gender, was slightly confused. | 
		
		
			| 832  3  0   
 | Days come and go. Faster through the years. Falling like Christmas tree needles, the longer the tree stands. The days will eventually end. Only one day a year is special. Even when we say we are too old to notice them, we do. We know they are there. Even when we… | 
		
		
			| 832  3  0   
 | so i slather cortizone on the bite marks of my experiences | 
		
		
			| 832  0  0   
 | On weekdays the two walked,The man in front and the boy always behind,Away from the borrowed house and the kachina dolls inside.Neither of them said anything.The boy thought of things that just wouldn't come out,and the dirt road was always just wet enough thatThe man's… | 
		
		
			| 832  2  2   
 | Hand shaking as she drinks from her cup, 
talking non-stop on her cell phone. 
Blue eyes, dirty blonde pigtails tied up with blue ribbons, 
pink polka dot shoulder bag, 
old pock-marks along her cheeks. 
Having long discussions over the phone 
wit | 
		
		
			| 832  3  1   
 | Who will plume the chicken? 
Who tend 
the little flower 
of the soft person? 
Who steal the pea out 
from under the bank 
while you’re holding it up? | 
		
		
			| 832  2  2   
 | I’m wearied with these tired Potemkin façades / these elaborate gates for alleys all blind / worn out with walking into dead ends each time. | 
		
		
			| 832  0  0   
 |                    “Okay, so I'm lying naked in this coffin with my big dick out,” George W. Bush says.                   “Yes!” … |