1970 3 3
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197041
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Approaching the kitchen from the foyer the reverb lessened until heel and floor where flint on flint. No spark was made.
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1970206
|
The book has known many women’s hands, something erotic and frequently checked out from our local library. Its cover depicts a man and a woman, both with improbable if not impossible bodies. I believe the term is bodice-ripper.
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1970116
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You haven't lived until she dances just for you ..
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19691611
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Poor souls. Likely they'll be poets.
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1969149
|
i stained his hockey sheets
right over the red wings
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196999
|
What if I said;
I never liked actually reading?
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196900
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At night, on these New England roads, there is no light, no pink sodium-vapor glow, no guideposts.
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196921
|
It’s always daylight there
My brother comes running down the sidewalk
holding out his arms and calling my name
He’s wearing suspenders. He’s gotten thinner
in heaven
He embraces me warmly
wanting us to be friends
I give up trying to re
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1969123
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....sees the beginning of a new day through the closed shutters, hears the guard washing up at the sink, feels the beginning of a cry in his throat.
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19691311
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She sits and waitsOn a chair that is hardWith a neck that hurtsAnd an eyeball that stings.She sitsSo stiffOn a chair that is hardWith a neck that hurtsAnd an eyeball that stings.She sitsAnd the hand on her lapHas a joint that cracksWith a neck that hurtsAnd an eyeball that…
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19691010
|
Bob’s thoughts drift back to bird, the solitary creature in the field, dignified, unhurried, waiting. Bob wonders where he goes; surely he will move on when spring gives way to summer.
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1968126
|
We go in gently at first, skimming over the first few swells and dropping speed, but then we pitch hard, tail over. The windshield holds. I think of Lily. I think of the baby. And I see my life.
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19681911
|
No snippet to see, here. The piece is so short a snippet would be the whole thing.
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196855
|
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19681613
|
I am a purveyor of leeches. All my
friends are purveyors of leeches.
We meet weekly to compare our wares.
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1968153
|
He stopped the shower and recounted his life, now Kin-less and plain.
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196873
|
“There are no inhibitions in here,” the postman shouted, gesturing at the dance floor with his Marlboro Light, the glowing tip aimed at a woman in a taut skirt. Leaning far forward, her hands nearly touching the plywood floor, she planted her feet and beg
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1968148
|
once she went to quenchthen she went to scrubnow she collects dead toadsgrinds them with cornmeal to feed her sowsonce she ploughed the land toiled with her face deep in dark soil her back burning in hot sunnow she works in the paper millmaking laminated labels for the…
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19672912
|
Night fell and the photographer slept, one hand between Prue's legs.
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19672410
|
One sunny morning, a big-bellied ball of yellow fur surveyed a yard full of prospective adopters and ran straight to one.
She’d been chosen.
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1967128
|
The blue Victorian at 1145 White Street shifts in its foundation, creaks, and settles in for the night. The girls are bundled into their beds. My wife, too, has gone to sleep. I’m alone in the kitchen, steeping chamomile tea, coughing phlegm into the wr
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196731
|
You never knew How to express What you didn't know You felt With your words You picked on You taunted You destroyed Did it help To feel yourself Did it work To disparage Those who were Innocent and young Blameless For living …
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19671313
|
Talking about a Friend Over a Cup or Two of Coffee “Their first fight was over school lunches. Free school lunches. She taught Kindergarten in a public special ed center for emotionally disturbed children. The…
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196663
|
At night, instead of sleep, there were new and secret pleasures. Half-awake lessons in dexterity, in the limber material of human life.
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1966209
|
My mother’s old china no longer reflects. It’s value is now estimated as drywall.
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196666
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I hope you'll have the time to read this before your attention wanders.
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196610
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I am wearing stolen socks. Not because I haven't any of my own, and not because they are an exact fit. Only because they soothe my emptiness inside.
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19663626
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I watch my mother and my daughter, each wondering in her own quiet way about where this story will go next.
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196654
|
The apartment was a second-level place, so I went down the steps and looked through the stained glass window of the door. “Ah hell,” I said to myself. Raymond Carver and John Fante and Charles Bukowski were outside. I opened the door.
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