741 0 0
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The gates going up
and down like
gigantic windshield wipers
to let the existent
boxcars pass.
We went across these real
bumpy railroad tracks into
a town so
small there
wasn’t enough room
for the car,
so we got out and went ahe
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74121
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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.
|
7404415
|
It all started when he bought my leopard nightie.
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74044
|
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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73900
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http://www.punchnels.com/fiction/the-frogman/
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73875
|
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73840
|
With his toga thrown over one shoulder because it was so hot out which has led to various and sundry theories of the naked centurions riding on horses in this manner through some unimaginable desert on a long march or even along the banks…
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73600
|
The new nose--
I won’t ask how much it cost,
but something’s been lost.
|
73600
|
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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73544
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As soon as I got the suspenders adjusted I felt different. I felt like Wilfred Brimley.
|
73420
|
The town is a wheel-less prairie schooner aground in a vast field of static
|
73300
|
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—
|
73300
|
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…
|
73211
|
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…
|
73111
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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.
|
73155
|
It was just her way. Slightly down and off to the left. Mom never looked anyone in the eye.
|
73100
|
Unready for the world,
we pawned ourselves
for a longer lease on youth.
|
73141
|
|
73032
|
December scent
rains coming down
sodden leaves underfoot
|
729135
|
Death is both alien and intimate to us; neither wholly strange nor purely one's own.
|
72820
|
You better not come home drunk, you shithead, or you'll be sleeping in the yard!
|
72822
|
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!
|
72710
|
He was journeying toward understanding of a higher truth so long lost.
|
72721
|
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
|
72710
|
My sister walked in the room while I read Ginsberg / reciting the lines to Jaweh & Allah Battle to myself /sweating in the heat contour of my ugly body on the bed /
the room the stench of rottenhumanasscracksemen
|
72600
|
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
|
72600
|
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.
|
72500
|
Pope Leo XIII endorsed a cocaine-based drink and at the age of 90 sat in on “The Last Castrato, Complete Vatican Recordings.”
|
72554
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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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725126
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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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