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That summer crawled with them, insects of every denomination: cicadas caught by the cat, wingless, came to rest in the roots of the garden we planted; sudden swarms of dragonflies...
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"We're practicing," she signs, "for an earthquake."
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There are many ways to cope effectively with your life after a Les Miserables run, and everyone is different, but here are some things that have helped others work through the process.
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87186
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If I seemed disappointed after our conversation,
then, for the record, that was never the case.
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I recalled the one night stand I'd had with the girl one balmy summer night in Minneapolis. We lay on my bed in the moonlight, and I touched the nipples of her tiny breasts with the thumb and pinkie of one hand.
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I am the boy with the olive skin who takes pictures of lewd sex acts performed by nobodies on stage at the Rock Creek Lodge Testicle Festival in Missoula, Montana.
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Last night in the shower, I felt only vaguely aware that something in me had changed.
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She smacked his back a couple of times with the flat of her hand
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yet fiction, despite contrary reports, from two ends of the American spectrum, does not mean lies, in my HUM
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for he shall inherit your dream.
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117077
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Harvey C. Hamby was drunk. Usually he held his liquor well, but tonight he was off his form. Stumbling over an ottoman, he landed on the floor in a sodden sprawl. As he fell, his left foot shot out behind him and socked Glenda Steinberg in…
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As far as I knew it was just an old man and his wife who lived in this house, but not really. I mean if you had seen what every person on that block had, you would have realized that many lived there, well many beings.
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You might want to think twice before inviting Henry David Thoreau to your next dinner party...
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Our afterlife depends upon//
what interesting shape
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131176
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Uh oh, the dry cleaning ticket
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Years After she can go home.
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My face turns to promise more, but my insides are browning.
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I remember years ago my mother saying to me, don’t get involved with the woman down the hall. She didn’t even know this particular woman; it was just a general pronunciation, that somehow being female and living down the hall meant bad things.
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Nothing new this numbing year 'til now-/
a forced recovery of voice through//
recollection of the catalogue of regrets,/
disappointments, and the long collapse
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She came from the land of rumpled sheets. She was the very definition of sex. She was the breeze through the wind chimes of his heart. One might say that she actually invented the orgasm. All mirages are this way. Perfect until they disappear. They
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Now that I am dead, my god will fight your god...
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If she weaves words that are true enough
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In a plush leather chair, / high up a shiny skyscraper,
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The new theaters require C-4 poems
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The Ocean used to be ours. When the stars were still fire and they were the only light burning though the dim, hazy nights, the ocean was ours. Before the smog, and the lights that were carried by the men who rose from the sea, the ocean was ours. We…
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In the small hours, when the crackling of the embers had stopped and the room had gone cold, the boiler kicked in and the pipes began to clang. He was half-roused out of his sleep, and then slipped under again to dream of Marley's fettered ghost.
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“This is where we suck the skin off the beasts,” remarks the General, pointing to a small white tube dangling from the ceiling. “We coat the mouthpiece with mushroom sauce, and as soon as they wrap their stinky bulbous lips around it... VROOOP!"
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She had just done it in the backseat with the man she decided would be her father. Or maybe it was the cast of his eyes under the dim bar lights. Maybe she insisted that this had to be done, to relive the night under the stars, under a dented roof of a station…
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