1950 30 17
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It was a surprise they put me in a dormitory, not a cell,
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195063
|
Cap'n Pepper tries and tries but Old Salty is never happy.
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195031
|
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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19501613
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I am a purveyor of leeches. All my
friends are purveyors of leeches.
We meet weekly to compare our wares.
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1950116
|
You haven't lived until she dances just for you ..
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194933
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A joust. A tournament. A playing field. ¶ Hmm . . .
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194974
|
She began guiding Penny’s arms, whispering movements through her body. Memory and experience sang through every fiber of their being. The song had become her life.
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194922
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“You wouldn't believe it.” Peter leaned in to whisper. “Don’t let the Kodak moment with the wife and kids fool you. That guy is totally gay.”
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19492713
|
This is not a story you expect to end at Cape Horn.
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1949117
|
When I got out I didn't buy a new suit of clothes, step into a bar, or bargain for an hour with a whore.
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1949123
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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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1949209
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My mother’s old china no longer reflects. It’s value is now estimated as drywall.
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19481611
|
Poor souls. Likely they'll be poets.
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1948105
|
I scare my daughter when she sleeps because she thinks I'm going to kill her.
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194862
|
No, she hated the vain, overweight, pathetic, glass-of-merlot-a-day, SUV piloting, Carmen-cell-phone-ring-toned, housewives and consumer sluts that charged through the store like starving hyenas through the fallen, decaying, putrid, corpses of a plague-ri
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1948128
|
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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194810
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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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194742
|
I know I know how many times you want me to tell you I’m sorry, okay?
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19471911
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No snippet to see, here. The piece is so short a snippet would be the whole thing.
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19471311
|
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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1947105
|
The waters rose / on the earth
|
1947137
|
|
194773
|
“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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1946126
|
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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194642
|
Here’s the story as compiled from the scantest of clues: The writing on the back of a stall door in the restroom of a twenty-four hour restaurant under the Gowanus Expressway.
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194610
|
For Hector it was animals. Rats, dogs, fish, and quite often horses – sometimes even lions. But for Achilles, it was always dead bodies.
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194600
|
Casting nets like Jesus to a metaphor sea
Admittedly as weak as me
But I need the hike,
Like we still like Ike
To tell us about the Military Industrial Complex
Though he never told us what came next
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194600
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Azure walked through the fog as though she were walking to class. Her hands swayed through the mist and felt the thickness of the cloud through her fingers
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1946206
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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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19461010
|
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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