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Has it ever happened to you to fall asleep standing in a bus a hand on the bar? It has to me and not just once. Usually on an early morning after a late night when just about all elements have joined in to make my mind give in to sleep. Think of yourself in a bus on a day…
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clouds clot the horizon all day
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There are many ways to cope effectively with your life after a Les Miserables run, and everyone is different, but here are some things that have helped others work through the process.
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12821
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To do the proper set up for the story, it was taking me some time, but each bit was important to the outcome, and while he likened me to Higgens on the old Magnum P.I. series, I just laughed at his slowly closing eyes and folded arm, caught in a half cur
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1. Sign of the Raven On the All Hallow's Eve that I rapped at his library door, Dr. Percival H. Wyndham was seated before the blazing hearth in his favorite leather armchair. The cluttered shelves lining the room's Maple-paneled walls brimmed with rare and obscure…
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The terms of a broken heart, I guess I nevergot to read them. But they must besomething awful, something numbing, something no sane personwould ever agree to. You're already on the vergeof becoming nothing I can remember without a photograph beingshoved in my face. Like a…
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Today I do not want to change
the world.
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I coughed a little. Some bloody fluid sloshed in the rubber tube coming from my chest. Outside my door some doctor was ranting. He was looking for the patient in the room across from mine. “She's in X-ray,” the nurse told him. “It's Friday,” he…
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at all altitudes and at all latitudes /
glaciers in furious melt: / both Greenland and Antarctica headed both /
to be ice-free isles adrift / and with shorter coastlines amidst higher seas.
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Some tough young punk with dreadlocks
Was walking down the sidewalk while texting
And got frightened when he was buzzed
By a hummingbird
Saying “oh shit”
He ducked, but then looked all around
To make sure no one saw him
Of course, I wa
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The gatekeeper, wrapped carefully in linen bandages around her torso, sat on the other side of the portcullis peeling an orange. It was always a difficult process for her because of her deformities. One hand had but two fingers, and these were thick and resembled a lobster…
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There's a witch in Laurel Canyon.She made Wes a promise.Her bungalow smelled like Parliaments. Parliaments, garlic frying in olive oil. Parliaments, garlic frying in olive, and a freshly opened pack of Red Vines. Wes could have curled up into a ball and fallen asleep on her…
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I say her- it might be him-/
but from a distance I supply the details I prefer.
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in moving cars i am small;
in moving cars i am invisible.
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Take a ride past Larry Crane’s 'Jackpot!' recording studio — right here! in the neighborhood! where Sleater-Kinney recorded 'One Beat' and Elliott Smith 'either/or' and Sarah Dougher 'The Walls Ablaze!' woo hoo! — and the kids are singing karaoke.
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Snow was whitening the prairies, the treetops, the roofs and the church. The village appeared dormant under its cold, sparkling covering. It was one of those winters when snow never seemed to melt away. There was a permanent look about it, a polar look.It was a school day.…
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the cracks in the concrete look like
rivers or highways crossing
from the air but only a few feet
below me
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To their left, and somewhat behind Nixon's elbow, Mao Tse Tung is peeling a tangerine...
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Do you want this, you ask, and hand me a blue silk shirt of hers
with small yellow flowers. I'm afraid to say no,
in case it makes you remember all over again.
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It’s so uncomfortable being an Angel in a sack
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Billy's days were much like his yesterdays, with little hope the ones to come would be any different.
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Let us not save each other
for special occasions.
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will we begin again?We are a wheelFirst touchfirst kissfirst heatThey fade, disappear, come back again.Spokes in our wheel.When again shall we begin again?I hold you and feel myself spincaught in the whirlwind of thrill -the world, saturated with your scent.We hold each…
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I charm as any stone-sculpted dream: / men grind themselves to dust on my breasts / in solitude poets spill and spew /
enraptured of my adamant clay.
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When I got out I didn't buya new suit of clothes, stepinto a bar, or bargainfor an hour with a whore.I walked from McGee Streetover to Russell and wonderedif Bus 16 still went out of its wayto loop around the traffic knotat the shopping mall. It'd drop you thereif you had…
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I sometimes wish I had in my brain a switch next to the illuminated image of you. A toggle I could turn off that this haunting would be exorcised. Or perhaps I could undergo a session beneath that clever contraption zapping the bits of Joel Barish's gray matter in which…
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The fine blond hairs lift slightly along the skin of your arms
As you nod, listening to him. The veins
On your arms standing up as well
I was caught in an off moment because of your skin
Because of the way moisture beads up on it
The youthful fi
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