1782 11 6
|
(originally appeared in Lit Up)http://litupmagazine.wordpress.com/poetry/rusty-barnes/Remind me never to call youagain after you get home late,for the familiar fear of the deadbolt noise,the shifty creak of your linoleum floor,the way you throw your jacket overthe sofa and…
|
1339156
|
It was not that he was boring – it’s just that he needed a lot of encouragement. When he came, he whispered to himself, ‘ohgodohgodohgod’ - like it was something to be ashamed of, to be sorry for. I wanted to hold him close against me but I also n
|
129296
|
Let's make a monetary enticement for writers who can revel in the magnitude of this tragedy...
|
152876
|
His eyes drift over the body of every
woman who enters Starbucks, even though
he’s old enough to be their father or grandfather,
still his eyes are aware of every shape passing by,
refusing to let go, and die.
Maybe they’re speaking Polish or
|
1279125
|
Can’t you do anything right?
|
1361126
|
It's 100 degrees in your tower/and that braid you're so proud of/is one hot ladder to nowhere.
|
171477
|
The suspended heart became an oracle of sorts. Hung from a string, immersed in the kind of glass container in which tulips grow, it was located between Bath and Body Works and Kleinfelter's Jewelers at the north entrance of the mall. Someone had lost it,
|
1097116
|
Observe the withered/
head atop the pole.
|
73986
|
When I asked her about her husband, she laughed.
|
163277
|
Thank you for submitting your epic poem I, I, I for consideration. While we are encouraged that you have relented from the ruthless self-endictment you affected so unconvincingly in your previous entry, Why Am I...
|
131107
|
Molly was a fanatical Flash Fictioneer, devoted to her miniature art form, the bonsai of literature, the tiny tales popularly known as flash fiction. She filled an entire blog with daily entries of the stuff. She came to flash…
|
161877
|
There it was, square in the middle of someone’s lawn: a slice of white bread, like a shirtless Englishman stretched out in the sun.
|
166996
|
Sorry Glenn Gould, I said, but our princess is in another castle. After that, Glenn and I went to an all night diner and ate scrambled eggs.
|
122787
|
I imagine you in the States,
pushing stacks of work papers and our memories
to the side, sense your enjoyment that
you won’t see the worry of your
behavior reflected in my eyes again.
That you can buy and bang and be
whomever you want,
|
1329166
|
Warning: contains sexually suggestive comments.
|
1108155
|
"And yet she always went on writing, even when nobody cared if she did or not: if she stopped, she told an imaginary prosecutor in her diary, 'I will not have earned death.' "
|
1421117
|
when the surface of a photograph gets like this that it has gone blind
|
136697
|
|
129296
|
I guess at the end you’re only
looking forward. Or upward actually,
since you can only lie there on your back
looking upward, straight ahead toward infinity,
your mouth in a grimace, with the ghostly
pink lips peeled back from the teeth.
|
42586
|
Shivers of desire,
bristles of knowing
|
123086
|
My uncle lived part-time in prison, in a cell with a blanket, pillow, and towel. The remainder of his days he lived in a small house on Prospect Street.
|
1517104
|
They live a simple life..two solitudes by lamplight.
|
125767
|
The last night, I shivered in bed until three a.m.,
the blankets wouldn’t work,
or the socks,
or my tears,
but I reassured my heart
that my next love would be warmer.
He was.
And our air conditioning bill was so high we could’t afford it.
|
121577
|
As spilled on a sandy Corona del Mar beach/both in moonlight and starlight so lovely/and strangely sad as if receding still
|
132887
|
a mere forty years/and maybe you become twelve,/maybe sixty-three.
|
145246
|
Two cars smashed together, the sky started to look like a foot infected with gout...
|
164796
|
He told me he could feel an army of tears building up behind his eyes.
|
108686
|
They clog the skimmer basket/
and fill the small Polaris bag.
|
104696
|
Wind was a sorry excuse for force
|
1242126
|
In the summer that my mother returned from wherever she had gone after her divorce, she and I moved to a large, old farmhouse high on a hill, far from the town where I had grown up. The farmhouse was over a hundred years old and no one had lived in it for…
|
