974 2 3
|
The earmuffs, a fine pale green, are tilted slightly to the left, threatening to quash her in their magnitude. Her eyes, sharp sparkling blue, focus for a flash, looking for applause or assurance, or perhaps just approval. Safe, behind…
|
15331611
|
Poor souls. Likely they'll be poets.
|
92400
|
Ayane took another look of the area and it was large warehouse. A loud thud vibrated outside.
|
113656
|
beckoning with citrus streaks blue cobbled streets/and stuccos lit with gold lamps guide strollers here/to Place du Forum in Arles and this café . . .
|
89942
|
(From Postcards fom a Railway Station (final poem)) No lights shine out tonight high hung in heaven: And the constellations like a dead man fall. No sight of polar eyes, whose sons are seven, And I stand unthinking and beyond it all I own it all a…
|
11661910
|
I can admire Falling Water
and find Mr. Wright a complete shit.
|
80133
|
By the time the forked tongue of the flag extended flat like it was pressed between two of my thick volumes on weather forecasting, the man was still walking with his nose glued to the ground.
|
1453149
|
It would be another difference a building has from a “sculpture”. It would be something that even photographers would have difficulty in disguising, since many modern buildings, even many modern photographs of buildings, place such emphasis on symmetry. For both…
|
94623
|
Don’t worry, she said
It’s not blonde down there
But she is wrong
It’s just as blonde down there
As anywhere
The light down along her arms
For instance
The down along her cheek
On the back of her neck
Her thighs
Apparently I am n
|
130153
|
Maybe you, citizen, should be a jerk. Jerks get where they are going. You, citizen, what about you? Handy, dandy, where’s the jerk? Conformists. Sheep. All of you, all of us, boiling out our radiators. Spending our day, our days, our lives in coope
|
100622
|
I caught a fragment of a charged argument as I passed them. The young man said, “Well, I am talking about love.” And the young woman with equal volume checkmated with, “Well, I am talking about money.” Though their lives were none of my business, this exc
|
115287
|
He disrobes; shoes, socks,
shirt, belt, pants. He smells of hard work.
The nude whisper of everything else.
|
75342
|
dreaming in my cartoon life
the car lifts its legs
a hundred feet in the air
|
92133
|
I grew up in a little red house filled with books. Both of my parents love to read, and the proof piled up in every room. Current books in the bedroom. Books from the last ten to twenty years in the living room and kitchen. Old books from their childhood and college days on…
|
107155
|
Years later Polyphemus still remembers the wine-soaked taste of Odysseus’s men. The barley and garlic-flavored Greeks. Their flesh a fibrous, blood-hued hummus. Their crunched bones releasing sweet marrow.
|
99244
|
She wakes up with rosemary.
|
106354
|
What the hell is going on out here!? Yelled the man with the shotgun
|
1539107
|
Newhouse returned his gaze to his wet palm, which he lifted to his nose with suspicion, sniffed again and again, then struggled to move out from under the growing stream.
|
1186115
|
Among the raindrops/
occasional plopping snowflakes.
|
84700
|
Tomiko did not feel lost. Although she struggled to understand what was going on around her, she knew where she wanted to go.
|
131199
|
Your honour stinks of failed fishing trips to Galway.
|
120698
|
I don't think you understand. A sad boy doesn't just die inside, slowly he becomes withdrawn from certain types of lovely youthful reasoning out loud, accustomed to feeling what is expected of him, just to be allowed to survive another…
|
87921
|
He didn’t even have the energy to tell me to tie her up when he got home.
|
123487
|
the steady, persistent work of beauty
|
86222
|
First they
Dust off the bottom of the sky
But then the clock gets stuck
At 3 seconds till uncertainty
Then they
Dye the sunset clouds
To make them more
Transparent
So as not to confuse
The human mind
With the stuff of uncommon
Nostalgia
|
149676
|
85% extra dark cocoa:/biting into bitter darkness
|
93421
|
The other night / I dreamt I was an astronaut
|
123776
|
in a willow garden lush shade/drapes dark the young woman's small house/with the lone window, the white door . . .
|
107483
|
Our lives are lived backward in memory...
|
13391811
|
We can apprehend beauty only/
by framing it with the photographic/
paper’s edge or the novel’s margins/
and bookends.
|
