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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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Perhaps nothing has never existed;/
perhaps something always has
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Cornelia stared in the mirror wishing them away. She'd locked herself in the bathroom for several hours now, but no one had even noticed. Her surprise at cutting her hand while washing her hair was nothing compared to horror she felt when she realized exactly what she'd cut…
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Golden yellows and oranges and reds that could have been scratching their toes now just tear the skin around her Achilles' heel.
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During fifth grade, I was called /
closeted queer and tall faggot.
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The thing was, though, she couldn’t shake the image of that dead dog she had found inside the black trash bag she thought could be first base, right before the twins said, Screw the game, let’s swing.
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Among the raindrops/
occasional plopping snowflakes.
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by Bobbie Ann Mason and Meg Pokrass
at The Nervous Breakdown website:
http://www.thenervousbreakdown.com/mpokrass/2012/10/tweeting-war-and-peace-with-bobbie-ann-mason/
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We married in the ruins of a pachinko hall, the tiny bones in the pocket of your tracksuit luring a pack of wild dogs out from the underpass.
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He moved his rotten breath closer to my mouth, like he wanted to twirl his tongue around just to see how it felt.
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I live in a small fishing village where small people fish and others gossip or invent bizarre methods by which to irritate each other. During our weekly power cuts I go outside and cross the street, sitting on the pharmacy steps to watch myself not be at home in the…
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I almost caught a poet today.
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With small and fleshy hands/
I scratch at enigmatic stones,
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This is not her death. This is absent-minded omniscience. This is impossible. And then again, the inside-out, implosion. And the hall was clogged with bodies; none of them hers, but who could be sure?
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But on arrival Darlene was in no prompt mood to undress.
"There's some ugly sumpthin' out there along the fence, looks like it's gnawin' on sumpthin' dead."
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He was instantly on her, pulling at her nightgown
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...I stared at my good dog with the same entreaty I saw in her eyes. Save us. Please.
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the bodies of the poor become/
a simple logistical problem,/
disposable as any gnawed bones
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For me German was a school subject. For Hymen, who could pronounce German but not speak it, it was a poetic technique or element, shorthand for what ails the world.
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O’Malley imagined the blissful, narcotic innocence of Toby’s world where soft-shell crabs crawled into people’s mouths and hummed a happy tune as they were chewed and swallowed.
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He invited her in for a Martini and she graciously accepted.
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The ghosts run before/
attacking horsemen. A heart/
is ruptured by a spear.
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Millennium jumped strumming lithium gum cumulative outnumber humiliated résumé jumpy instruments
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1. How can one begrudge the cracking open of a heart?When the lava love fire loaded insanity of self-control disappearsAnd the raw spewing beginsYou better be ready for the truthIt ain't gonna be prettyYou'll wish you were deadYou won't recognize where you areYou'll be…
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“When I was six years old, Dad came home from Vietnam and picked me and Mama up from her sister's house in Boston. We packed a U-Haul with everything we owned from T.V. to toothbrush. Dad hitched the trailer to the Rambler and drove us South, back home to Carolina. A…
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Thomas Friedman was right when he said, “Much of this biodiversity in Indonesia is now under threat.”
It had been this way since gasoline became currency; I remember bartering with The Governance for the newest edition of The Guinness Book of
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let competitions in crime ensue
let every madness bring
let every sword be drawn
let every furious rage flow free
let anger know no shame
let all blind rage inflame . . .
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