954 5 2
|
We head home, skirting along the coast,
humble before catapulting waves;
the lighthouse near invisible
if not for a single band of red.
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15262214
|
I thought each day died inside the clock.
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95000
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The end, she thought, when did we end? She knew it had to end. Ten months in and it was no different from the day they met. Then again, the day they met it seemed as if they’d known each other ten years. That was the nature of their relationship she
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105200
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Zal’s first day on the job they had 16 customers. They took turns crying, “Bring out your dead!”
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104200
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For so long as I think I shall live.
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94720
|
here’s the deal…
sorrow follows tears…
pain later for the happiness now…
is the joy something we only borrow…?
|
96900
|
Inspector Paumé hung up the telephone. He looked at Dan Arris, who was staring out the window, shook his head and walked into the bathroom one more time to gaze upon the naked dead body of Claudia Monschaud.
|
16751110
|
locking the door against dangerous//
human curiosity and forgetfulness.
|
111131
|
He pronounced the Afrikaans word with the vowel sound like the vowel in dour. It meant box, but it also meant cunt.
|
93411
|
We are / packed in a speck of dust / adrift across the universe, / revolving an ember.
|
100811
|
He’d've been up there belting out the hymns then bickering with the vicar after.
|
110054
|
Suddenly, the room was filled with a screaming vortex directed at a pinpoint in the corner. Timmy's bureau was gone and everything loose in the room was flying towards the spot it had occupied. Timmy stood up in horror. He tried to seal this rent by tossi
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1369179
|
Shakespeare had red hair / Van Gogh never painted a nude
|
106148
|
|
120743
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They found your athymic neck/clipped like a bag of Skittles/and your lifeblood left a Rorschach test on the dash/in which they saw the future/and their own exits/(straight ahead and to the right).
|
119453
|
Seeking your will, instead we found, somehow, a clutch of our own documents;
folded under a rubber band gone to rot,
muddy strands nestled in the creases.
|
194742
|
I know I know how many times you want me to tell you I’m sorry, okay?
|
1118105
|
You drive that '67 Ford PU down highway 73 like it's gonna take you where you want to go. Pig truck makes you want to roll up your window, but it's just too damned hot. You stop on the shoulder next to a sign that tells you not to, and you look in your glove box for a…
|
116631
|
No one takes me seriously because I am an idiot.
|
146273
|
see this:/ ink-stained paper/ littering miles
|
1034136
|
I tell people that we leave out food for the creatures to appease the skunk gods.
|
138695
|
Parsimony, Sage Advice, Alimony, and Time.
That would be one.
The Waste Land. The Hollow Men. The Red Wheelbarrow.
There are others,
But I have definite shoe anxiety dreams and can’t get over them.
Do not Go Gently Into That Good Night. Alone
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109330
|
So this was how it started. The next day Kia returned to sit with him a bit and the next day and the day after that until the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months. Eventually she found out his name was Saul, that he had no 'proper' job, was o
|
102375
|
of anything if that's the way you feel your love must go down, off its last nut before the big victimizing crash of the end of days and flowers. But watch out for thosethorn bushes that grow from forgotten holes in the ground.…
|
106100
|
Character & Fitness, the opening chapter to my novel, "Death of the Dying City."
|
89411
|
Breaking the cat's cradled cord she examines her fingernails. She notices a crack in the paintwork, sighs to herself. Makes a mental note to cover it over.
Cover it over, paint over the cracks. There's been a lot of that recently, hasn't there?
|
1583109
|
She asks me what she should do, and I say I don't know because I'm no good at handling fragile things. She says, let's talk about you. I say I can't - phone signal, you know. She calls me anyway, twice, then leaves a message saying that she just wanted to
|
99841
|
As I looked in her eyes
She told me—
she liked to pull wings off flies.
|
18242318
|
a poem about an abduction in my NYC neighborhood
|
95700
|
He marvelled at himself. How his decision and the consequential action, could free him up, make him almost jolly, almost well. He didn't give a fig for his lack of money and inability to pay his rent, he didn't care anymore that he was no longer inspired
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