1755 23 10
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An Ayurvedic astrologer tells her that she is a child of India. Is a girl born in Indiana a mistake of just two letters on a Scrabble board?
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1755168
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The three of us traveled seven hours that day and Al traveled as far in the service of finding the right tool for his writing.
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17552718
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1. The ghost that photographs my wife and me has a peculiar sense of lighting. In this one, we are sitting at the kitchen table of our old apartment. The table is made of glass. There is nothing on the table except our elbows. She has lowered her head between her…
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175421
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The barista with the fake rainbow nails and amazing cleft. . . .
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175454
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Often we sit in silence and age. We are observers of dust, fashioning ourselves into antiques.
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17542114
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all paths converge on Africa/
and Eden, and the fall from animal grace
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1754117
|
I'm trying to read a Poetry in Motion poem on there wall of a crowded electric train
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175400
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The number 25 double-decker bus threads its way through the narrow two-lane streets. Coughing and burping without a hint of embarrassment, it carries us from the train station, with its cheerful round clockface and neat front of red brick, over the weepin
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17542011
|
...he thought often of the rollicking waves, of being pulled under, of being weightless and senseless...
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175344
|
Alma Tucker settled into middle age with the comfort that escapes most women. Her festival queen days gone. Along with her wispy waist and cherry blond hair, replaced by broader curves and graying tresses. She was content with the way age had changed her
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175320
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Berto had come to live with me a month earlier. He’d been cursed by being the favored child of our parents. Their indulgence resulted in a 40 year old man and heroin addict from age 17 and all that accompanies such an existence such as thievery, larcen
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1753129
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the Great Way itself is very smooth and straight,/but folks take to the challenge of rough, wild roads.
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175372
|
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.
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175300
|
With Sora looking, they realized they caught her attention, but Ciel just turned away. Azure wanted to talk to her and let a few things off her chest. She figured they both could settle this through talking and move forward from there
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1753167
|
it's the very words that are the problem
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17532712
|
Borges must be so proud somewhere
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1753101
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Do you want an ass mi Nina Bonita? I buy you jeans that work like a Miracle Bra for your behind.
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175240
|
That night we slept on the floor of Kirk and Maggie’s apartment and listened to them arguing all night about art and life and love. Ah, me, I sighed, the sad soul of America! I thought of Walt Whitman. I thought of Allen Ginsberg.
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1752177
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You have transformed me into an aimless, sleepless wraith...
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17511716
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"Why so ornery?" she asked.
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175142
|
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175100
|
The stone floor was cold and the sky above had a purple haze. The setting sun hid beyond the trees outside the crumbled walls. Vines reached over the well as if it grabbed it like hand.
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1751012
|
"I called him a fucking loser and left."
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17511312
|
She learned the difference between listening and hearing, between looking and seeing.
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175142
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Though she is looking at me, I sense she is seeing someone else. Somewhere else. Maybe a long time ago. Her hair looks like cotton and a silk scarf is draped elegantly across her frail shoulders. Plum lipstick outlines lips almost vanished with age.
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1750910
|
I knew I needed to visit a beach / made entirely of sharks’ teeth
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17502915
|
In a rousing show of support for guns and the owners who love them, the Legislature passed and Governor Greg Abbott gleefully signed a law proclaiming April 15 as Take Your Gun to Work Day in Texas.
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175074
|
Start with a long look down the alley, a small hoodied figure turning in.
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1750172
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The nightmares started in the seventh month. I have always been a deep sleeper and one of the things that comes with that facility is an inability to extricate oneself from nightmares.
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175032
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Oh, you can’t stay, your poetry/
Is still out in the world, maybe when you die/Your volumes will make their way/Not just here but
everywhere
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