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Birds FlySeven Poemsby Darryl Pricefor Charlotte and Mel, as always"We should insist on joy in spite of everything."--Tom Robbins“I don't need your love. I don't need you to understand. I just need you to listen.”—Perfume Genius1. I Want to Sing to…
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Did we get Jihadi John?/
And the highway to Mosul?//
What’s the score?
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Years After she can go home.
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I have never met Joe’s brother, of course.
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It’ll die in there and the stairwell’ll stink for weeks, Greg says in the car. We’re quiet, considering that.
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He wasn’t there for the beginning or the end. In the beginning, he was still a wild thing. Nothing more than a voice in the chorus of the Dark Continent, back when it was a thing of terrible beauty and attracted people like the old man; people who breathe
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All of those lovelies, pitched on the ground, ignored and ready to rot.
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I had felt suddenly lighter and next thing I knew I was watching Leonard Tucker and Sister William from somewhere near the ceiling. I saw myself, too, at my desk, holding my songbook out in front of me like everyone else.
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Borges must be so proud somewhere
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the boredom inherent in living in the suburbs
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once wedding cake
under pillows.
now fluffy frosting
on squashed defeat
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Often we sit in silence and age. We are observers of dust, fashioning ourselves into antiques.
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On the table the image is by Chardin but the puzzle is by someone else and that is what he has dumped out of the box.
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“They picked me up in their spaceship about noon,” Austin Grantham says to me while pulling up an apple crate to use as a stool.
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I know now, how she moves without verbs
after you crushed her into the river.
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Everyone runs to the plane but me. I get the last seat (middle of 5), crush men’s bags on my way. I’m white & female. They glare.
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pluck me from the charred grate
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Mama hung them everywhere. It started with just a few, in our apartment and outside on the brick. She made walls into windows.
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When I squint at her from across the table I can see the waveforms created by her carrier signal.
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It was only when blood began to drip onto the page that he realized he'd been hit.
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over tea & saltineshe read melike an obituary
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I need a different storage solution
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I screwed my courage to the sticking point and asked him if he had shot down any Japanese airplanes. He grinned at me. “One,” he said.
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For some, a vertical pattern will evoke prison bars, for others, product bar codes.
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She was a beautiful woman. I don't argue with that. I welcome it.
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I hope you'll have the time to read this before your attention wanders.
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A 1960’s of walking sugar beet fields to remove the rogue bolters by hand and on other days painting the ironwork of cattle sheds with red oxide. Then a 1970’s when the self-inking explosion of tattoos on his hands and then his body began.
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True love may last forever, but the most I've ever gotten out of a lab assistant is two years, five months, three weeks, twelve days, and fifteen hours. And he was the exception.
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500 miles
all the way from Omaha
nine hours
on the back of a flatbed truck
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I talk wands and magic and how women aren't supposed to care,
but I do, and she talks length and girth.
Her fiancé has neither,
she makes an illustration with her pinky
and says that if they don't marry within the year,
she's dumping his ass
and we
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