748 0 0
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http://www.punchnels.com/fiction/the-frogman/
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74844
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I didn't arrive at the Wicked Spoon every night in the same mood. Some nights I would arrive under the spell of a generous emptiness, what I like to call the euphoria of futility. Not exactly a state of bliss, but a dazed detachment in which everything is so pointlessly…
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74721
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I found you at Darrell’s, the bar down the street.
A place where loose women and tight men might meet.
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74600
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The U.S. Supreme Court today heard arguments on a legal issue that tears the nation apart every October: Does the Constitution protect the right of male fans to watch the fall classic even if they have no rooting interest in either team involved?
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74675
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745135
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Death is both alien and intimate to us; neither wholly strange nor purely one's own.
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74544
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As soon as I got the suspenders adjusted I felt different. I felt like Wilfred Brimley.
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74300
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The new nose--
I won’t ask how much it cost,
but something’s been lost.
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74320
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The town is a wheel-less prairie schooner aground in a vast field of static
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74300
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And then I get a call from a different kind of bar
They say you’re drunk on Cosmos and actin’ quite bizarre.
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74232
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December scent
rains coming down
sodden leaves underfoot
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74111
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The Divine and merciful Understanding Calls out to me But let me not speak its name. You are an unworthy hearer And I am a secret-keeper, cunning With keen thoughts and prayers of swift Justice Single is our thought and act And when we pray we know not what it…
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74100
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The sacrificial tendency is a real ugly one A pound of flesh, because it grows back But gnarled and scarred For you, So you may smile or cry Whatever you need How about an ounce of truth? How about I make a maze And you walk through…
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7404415
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It all started when he bought my leopard nightie.
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74010
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He was journeying toward understanding of a higher truth so long lost.
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73900
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Unready for the world,
we pawned ourselves
for a longer lease on youth.
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73922
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Interviewer: So, you walk on water, right? How is that possible?
Jesus Lizard: Well, I only run on water, and upright on my hind legs. Haha, if I tried just walking on water I’d sink quicker than St. Peter!
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73841
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73700
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Pope Leo XIII endorsed a cocaine-based drink and at the age of 90 sat in on “The Last Castrato, Complete Vatican Recordings.”
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73721
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Pigeons are really the souls of what were once beggars
in the endless squares of Paris, Venice, or Jerusalem.
They are born with the soul of a beggar
attached to them.
It is stuck beneath their wings.
They cannot fly without it,
and they ar
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73700
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to think of him looking at me / for he to be I and I to be he / it is almost unbearable / to occupy two bodies at once—
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73743
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"Living is easy with eyes closed/misunderstanding all you see.'--John Lennon That's an ache that's always inside me. How you'd rathertreat people as if they don't matteras much as some nice sounding words in a song. Their voicesas less than an annoying wind? Because…
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73655
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It was just her way. Slightly down and off to the left. Mom never looked anyone in the eye.
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73554
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Ever since he left, I have been alone with the tree. We had planted it together. A green twig in the middle of the garden and a knotty stick, running around. Fingers and branches have grown. Very fast. Too fast. When he left, I sat in the shade. There I started writing, and…
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73411
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not otherwise employed, writing verse,/
line by tenuous line the substance of pulse./
―but no one collects unemployed verse:/
self-lacerations must yield blood, not ink.
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73400
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Outside, Santa Claus has put on cat eye sunglasses and lights a cigarette.
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73410
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I once knew a guy named Ian from Manhattan
Who liked looking at New Yorker fey cartoons.
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73400
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I am so lost in thought
as I ride out of the woods
that I forget which way I ought
to turn, left or right; this can’t be good.
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73200
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So many ingenious traps for catching and hamstringing female poets have been invented that it is a rare editor who ever really sees one. H.L. Mencken
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732126
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In the desert, among mauve flowers growing feverishly in the ochre sand, a bone, completely bare. Without underwear, without a shirt, nothing. White as a small cemetery ghost, eroded with age, the weather, the vicissitudes of life. It was a femur. I put it on my desk to…
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