965 4 3
|
for Edward Victory is death. Rock stardom is death. Life is murderous.Love's still beaded much longer and stronger than any row of round headed lovers. You can't stop death from turning to face you, but itsnot exactly expecting your poem's referral either. In…
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96577
|
what-ta-hell, fuck this/he snorts brushing/
the dust from his shoulders
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96510
|
I turned and gaped-
In horror gasped--
There was no clear escape.
Down Winter Street, up Park perhaps?
Too late-she had me in her grasp.
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96563
|
The fire was so fierce,so fair like an opal;the most primal burn."Death haunts these trees,"the woman said, as she held the potof beetroot soup above the fire.They spoke from the basement; living in the dark space,nerves too locked up to to look out the windowand…
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96410
|
[insert short snippet of text]
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96420
|
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96422
|
Now her right breast was annoying her.
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96321
|
They left their great need
behind
when they were taken out of the country
They live without thought
of that blood
They do not respond to anything that
calls to it
They are shallow
They feed on image (alone)
Blood does not
shake their heart
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96220
|
Papa was fucking the artist’s wife, Lillian, and the artist knew it but was afraid to say anything and she had broad, muscular brown arms and loved the sun on the sea and also she was just as athletic as the great writer and caught the big fish right alon
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96200
|
Pushing the "surge of steam" button has latelygiven the mother a feeling ofpower;She pushes a button anda loud gurgling sounddampens the spiritof even a 100% cotton item,and forces it to be still andstraighten out.I need a button likethis to affect my family and…
|
96200
|
My distinguished white-haired boss sat behind a table at the entrance of the building and gave me a forbidding look. You’re fired, he said. Get out.
|
96154
|
they deafen you with cute / knive you with sugared songs / with machines turn love to silicon shit / hurl you at the god Fun / debrain you in their schools.
|
96163
|
McMurdo Sound. Amundsen. Penguins huddled in a mass...
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96100
|
Salome said she wanted the head of John the Baptist on a platter, adding
the latter touch of finery for reasons
all her own.
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96020
|
When one hears the siren call of artsy high school love, there’s not much one can do except go ahead and crash on the rocks, sending incense sticks and candles flying.
|
96031
|
He stood with his cardboard sign and watched the faceless occupants, watched for a car window to lower; there were few.
|
96000
|
as an artist changes religious lore, it was not god who ordained the death of his son
|
95931
|
His wife leans her head against a beam with her eyes closed
while he reads out loud.
Her mouth shut tightly, almost twisted shut. She’s so weary.
She raises her collar and sinks further into her neck.
When he shouts, or explodes – nothing.
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95900
|
She put on her hat, and walked into the back area, where she found a locker that held her name badge and a tube of chap stick.
|
95900
|
A tattered bird had a made a tomb in tepid water, it was a puddle near the framework of a half-built room— but the soul's a swerving tunnel and the dead are waiting at the end: all sorts of animals huddled at the fringe where littered pine needles stand and creep…
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95952
|
That was when we discovered we could make one shadow jump right through another and come out whole on the other side. Our shadows were indestructible. It was one of those moments of discovery maybe only gallons of pink Chablis could bring on. Or dope.
|
95910
|
“An attractive woman is at a ritzy brunch. She’s drinking a really outstanding Bloody Mary and decides to try a raw oyster on the half shell.
|
95840
|
It has been more than three decades since I returned to work from a noon union meeting to find myself, along with about twenty others, locked out of the printing plant where we worked.
|
95711
|
I have things that I should do
but I will lie abed with you
in homage to our deaths last night.
|
95794
|
The dead tongues chuckle/
in Etruscan
|
95763
|
I dreamt I was Vermeer
For just a little while
I took this photo of a criminal
A mugshot really
And claimed I had painted it
From memories of a previous life
He looked just like a Vermeer
With the light coming in
From the side of his fac
|
95661
|
The Trust Fund editors said they are leaving Germany. They have been there while I have stayed home to tend American refugees.
|
95653
|
If you ever find yourself outside a funeral home lighting up
contemplating the future of the unknown, contemplate this
Maybe the cigarette’s wet on your lip and you are wondering why
Or in the middle of the night you are lying awake
and try sa
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95652
|
Wake me up on payday
Don’t throw in the towel
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95600
|
Watch me squeeze this gland until it turns purple and everyone stood amazed at Montmartre.
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