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There were echoes all around them, their shadows delirious and only existed in short spurts under the breath of the streetlights. They danced as their cigarettes leaked calligraphy across the night sky and she tried to trace it with her finger. He asked her what it said…
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before your full lips touch
mine.
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She reached out her arms and spoke to the moon, "I ran from my fears, from loving too soon." She gazed at the heavens and cried to the stars, "I could not promise him all of my heart." She wiped away her tears and laughed at the trees, "Not a soul on this earth would…
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I remember him saying something like: “Are you aware of how completely horrible you are as a human being?”
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Can you see the rut? Can you dig your fingers into the flesh?
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This is the most frustrating kind of amnesia.
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A gentle man,
and a fierce woman,
charmed one another
in a shaded gazebo.
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It felt like I was somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be, like I’d walked into a house that looked like mine, but belonged to someone else.
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I found you at Darrell’s, the bar down the street.
A place where loose women and tight men might meet.
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Mayumi ran. She ran fast as if her life depended on it. She never looked back. She did not care about her friends. Mayumi just wanted to escape that world more than ever, but she did not get far.
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Some believe the Scots were encouraged to emigrate, hired guns as it were, to Ireland to civilize that population.
If that's the case, we would see it as another evil English trick. In any case, we MacGowans are Scots Irish and Protestant.
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...the daffodils will fling/
their yellow petals, taunting winter
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Sometimes he made a corny joke and smiled. The gold in his tooth glowed like
sunshine. He was the most important man in my life.
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Wake me up on payday
Don’t throw in the towel
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We dig up conscience-tunnels, pluck the play-flower of present choice for fun, run aground, past this dimly lit, though not to be underestimated, stage, and open door upon empty door, to nothing, for the lights are a pulse flickering in the perceptual per
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When I was in high school, we had a prom. The juniors were paired with the seniors; and when I was a senior, I recall meeting my date for the first time. You can imagine she was not enthralled.
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In a plush leather chair, / high up a shiny skyscraper,
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The train sits in the main station and you see a man foist himself into a seat next to a young woman in jeans, stabbing his lit cigarette close to her face, "Don't you ever pretend you don't know me again, you hear?"She freezes. Only her eyes frantically dart, lock onto…
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Some people might find it strange and a bit obsessive to mow their lawn every day, but to Shiram it was an irreplaceable part of his daily existence.
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‘It's perfect,' said Maggie as she lay in the casket. Harold Barnes offered his hand. ‘It's a shame he never got to see it,' Maggie continued as she climbed free of the coffin.
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It's so nice
to be under something else's power
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…like candy and puke on your tongue, the fakest broad ever, cruising like a busted prow, busted wheel, mast and stem, these stately wrecks and rotten flowers of perfume and the deadly bitchiness of the modern woman’s expectations.
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When he was certain he was ready, he set out. The journey was arduous for a man of his years. Yet, he seemed to spring to it, like a dog to a bone. Maybe like a lion to it's prey; mostly in the best way possible for a man such as he.
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Michael had become quite accustomed to his morning routine. He woke at seven, made his coffee, and stepped onto the front porch with a steaming cup and a fresh cigarette.
He sat there for ten minutes or so, watching the neighborhood prepare for their d
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the brain plays impish tricks/
and entertains itself with avant garde/
home movies
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Rosea plays a bohemian plainsong for the cosmonauts among us, while her fuzzy apple hips spit glitter, spin strobes: pink shades of pantyline flicker; lip-licked neon hues scrape strings in B sharp, a gloomy clue.
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The rhythm of my breathing
is a litany of regret.
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Let's be honest. Ugly people have an uphill battle in this culture. From the time they slide out of their ugly mothers they stand at the plate with two strikes.
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I want to be that daring gardener who ploughs up her front yard -- to the horror of the Neighborhood Association.
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