933 7 4
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All this broken glass in the road
Tells the longest story l have ever told
Of how you lost your life and I my love
And how you still go wandering above
I don't know how I can return
To the planet where we used to thrive
Along this broken
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141688
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I know now, how she moves without verbs
after you crushed her into the river.
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104743
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Reams of saggy bunting intersect the streets.
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263119
|
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17651312
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You drink in women's bodies, without reserve. You take a sip at the post office, a gulp at the gym, a teensy taste when we walk together. Tonight you even indulged as we were looking for a parking spot and passed some twenty-somethings, then followed up w
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130485
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Twice burned, it buries its graves.
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1201127
|
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105921
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poon fred / loop ilo/ bussy yubb tree
|
14281813
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The young man is back again, solo,
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1272126
|
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147265
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weep or go stark mad your amanuensic fool will bury your words
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110963
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so many bills to pay
the list keeps shedding its skin like a snake
|
1122159
|
They were discussing reincarnation,
what animals they would come back as.
"I'd be a vole," Cranshaw said. Is a vole
even an animal? Connie asked.
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100054
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There I saw a man
Lowering his head
Close to the plate
And just wolfing down
His cake
And that was all he ate
It was like
Solace
He was enjoying it
So much
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99832
|
Airwave candy
lyrical brandy
brass band singer.
|
94011
|
What I'm going to do is grab this eight-year-old fellow down the block, and declare him a candidate for this Presidential campaign. I'll be his campaign manager, and our whole message will be based on the First Streetlight platform. It's old school but very…
|
110364
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your words that came crashing over me/
so cold the clear shock was like salt water
|
130897
|
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129775
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they got some heat here in the West
|
1349108
|
To dance along the wrack line...
|
123254
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I said, “That bird is hungry.”
The sparrow was eying both of us
At our separate outside café tables
As it hopped around looking for crumbs.
Then it would look up at us
Expectantly.
|
16071513
|
Poets who thrum jirble and thwack
Poets who thrum eat quorn with raw swamms
Poets who thrum are eristic (not shambolic)
Poets who thrum deliciate unto kench when they freck
|
107996
|
Suppose you should bend your whole body backwards you know like a powerful bow and push the rest of your true self forward in my face just like Georgia O'Keeffe in nineteen-nineteen, push it all over in my general direction? My gaze would …
|
119033
|
I contemplate the words that did not make it; the lost ones. The words deprived of their moment in the sun. These words. These words that are not part of the story.
|
111300
|
Grayson Warren is living the American Dream: a 15-year career as a city cop, a great wife and two kids. And then one day his dream turns into a nightmare.
|
233129
|
|
143175
|
I think they've always been together, talking amongst themselves about whatever is happening around them. A part of me wishes they'd walk into the cave and disturb whatever is burning it from the inside out.
|
13111610
|
There will always be some
who misread the dance
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11431210
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It's gone too long since her Robby Sherwood's dreams rose through the tenement chimney into pear-sweet clouds. Once was he planned histories, carried herself over slopes of hesitations to the night meadow, soft-skinned and whispered. Her man shouldered…
|
126975
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The receipts all fell into the black leather valise he’d retrieved from storage that afternoon, except for the forty-eight cents, which wound up in the right front pocket of his jeans.
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