1582 13 4
|
. . . she didn’t bow her head.
|
158253
|
“Get ya hands outta there, ya filthy old cunt!” I look up, his distorted face hurling more abuse.
|
15821210
|
The coffins pile up gnawing dust on the glass panes to the rims of my binoculars. Shadowy cracks of stifling proportions, gliding over my eyes a requiem of mahogany. At dawn they heave between the workers’ hands, leave their resting places for a green tra
|
158232
|
Out here in nearly nowhere I met this man. About him I know something something, and no one can tell me otherwise.
|
158234
|
“Do you think she paints?”
“Her face, a little, But don’t you find her kind of bony?”
|
15811210
|
'This dude’s whole life must be in this book. It’s like, a man diary.' The thought makes her laugh.
|
158171
|
We are not doing a good job of ignoring Pink Floyd.
|
158173
|
My favorite was a red bowler, a man's hat, which I never dared wear outside my tiny bedroom. My three brothers wanted it too much to take that kind of a risk. They'd poke me with various sharp objects: the serrated edge of the bread knife, the rusted TV
|
158172
|
He had long since quit listening to the incessant clanging of the bell. He stood, ringing the bell, squinting into the setting sun, nauseous from the car exhaust, his body aching for alcohol.
|
158141
|
This bumble-bee been following me around all day. Ever since I woke up, it's been with me. I just now smacked it to the ground and then it crawled on my bag and flew up to me again, zooming all around me; it's frightening me, a little. Bee…
|
158121
|
Enter Tipitina’s – the rotation hole
where electric, shoeless uncles
allocate their copper goulashes
to catch white dripwater.
|
1581117
|
"They called him a syllannibal: a person who eats his own words. The only words he ever ate, however, were the ones he had written."
|
15811412
|
...but still, when she whispers that going out now might put her in the mood later he unties from his mooring and sets them both drifting toward the gin-splintered latitudes
|
158161
|
Bit by bit I was traveling away, we thought. Maybe I’d join myself, all together, in Toronto. Or in an industrial coffee can. Or in the closet. “Check the closet,” I pointed.
|
15812618
|
Rothko explored horizons,/
blurring figure and ground/
by omitting the figure.
|
15811411
|
I'm sure someone somewhere must havefelt something like it before. Imean I've never been able tohave this kind of deep longing asif you might want to forget everythingyou know. I always figured that funny stuff onlyhappened to folks in a foreignfilm. Not to some guy…
|
15813918
|
Sometimes, under the gauze and yellow salves, I glimpse you...
|
158000
|
She's a nurse, plugging leaks, postponing via triage. I'm an engineer, watching essential systems shut down as my body buys extra minutes.
|
158022
|
Wee-wee-sweet-pea me? I live, I weep, a third of me passed in sleep, start a scene or two, play and dance the fool, …
|
158055
|
He moved his rotten breath closer to my mouth, like he wanted to twirl his tongue around just to see how it felt.
|
157921
|
A recent book reveals that nature documentaries are staged. Shocked by such claims we went on location to discover for ourselves the behind-the-scenes manipulations and more. Director: “You'll spot the wildebeest, freeze, and then charge. Okay? And try to bring…
|
1579105
|
"She has a lot of time to think these days. What else is a woman to do with the rest of her life?"
|
15791412
|
At five o’clock in the afternoon, at five o’clock / in the afternoon
|
1579129
|
the Great Way itself is very smooth and straight,/but folks take to the challenge of rough, wild roads.
|
15782118
|
There can be no convergence./
There is only the talking that talks about/
an angle of sight nothing else can share.
|
157896
|
A friend of mine recently died and went to Heaven, or so I innocently thought. It was only when I received a letter a month later postmarked “The Island of Final Regrets” that I realized he was still in transit.
|
157842
|
I want to break that mug. (Break him.)
|
15781311
|
that moon does not think (unless mineral thoughts) . . .
|
157832
|
Julius winced, knowing there was no way out. Amy showed him every worm, every insect, every dead mouse she’d found when they were in the fields. She pulled him forward, making his bruised shoulder burn.
|
1578158
|
If This Were Baltimore East A spray of change in the lilies and loose rubber, she pulled close to the wall. She smiled at the trucks, her handful of loot. Hallelujah, he said, converting. West Like 4 miles of cakes, they counted…
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