1080 10 6
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Rainy eyes fall fast somewhere
close to me
Riding the wind like lust
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As he brushes his shoulders against other people's shoulders until he almost has no shoulders –
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years later ghosts enter. . . .
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I was right to fear the God of my father
He is a monster.
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A compliment is candy to the heartbroken, oxygen to a suffocating flame. The best hunter picks his prey carefully, selecting his line like an archer pulling an arrow from a quiver, quickly and efficiently, then flick! the line cuts through the air and…
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122176
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Get comfortable with criticism
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1481115
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Marge came home with a Doors CD.
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Take 1. The Love Letter to an Unspoken Name Well we're beyond our appointed Moment now. We must step On what's left, alone, but That begs some explanation to These days that pinball between Stars and to the sad dreamers…
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We get prepped for the big finale, and we don't want the guy who turns up with the scythe to be Jo-Jo the dog-faced boy.
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I spent our years together
being someone you'd approve,
and all
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He brought me kisses from New York.
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But do come close enough for me to hear.
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His looks were polished like his shoes, his hair as black. No one would have guessed he made his living as a thief.
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I'm not plagued with high levels. Must be all the raking I do. My pubes look as lush as my hair, so fire isn't even a concern. Maybe heat exhaustion is.This might be a poem,My oceans aren't small.
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I never meant to shipwreck you,
I didn't even know I was singing out loud.
I just stood on my rock a little too boldly,
and hummed a tune you wanted to hear.
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and, once in a rare while,/
actual pearls.
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"Possible candidates for reading to a crowd"
the subject line of the email to myself read.
You see, writing can be hard -
or writing can be easy.
But writing for a crowd you'll see is something else entirely.
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You look at me with that contemptuous smirk while I'm here in Walmart dressed in sweats and house slippers, sloppy, a bit fat, trying to figure out which electric toothbrush to buy.
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I scare my daughter when she sleeps because she thinks I'm going to kill her.
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Clear as my conscience may be, you still haunt me as the brown settles to black
sit there and recommence as if nothing had ever happened, your hands conducting the orchestra of your purity.
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67476
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Marcel Proust had never been to a big-box store before. He was dazzled by the sheer size and scope of the store and the seeming impassivity of the shoppers. So many products, so many shelves, such strangely intriguing examples of the human condition. The people seemed…
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109496
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" No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: he may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing."--T.S. EliotI think, okay now I know, the poem's starting to wear off. But I'm alive, at least…
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gravel coughing up tires at 90 miles an hour
and just getting under way
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LECTURES A Bra Burning When Freud painted “Envy,” the women collapsed, holding fans to their faces. Hot that year, they retired to the Tyrols. 50 Days of Palindromes Although Thiebaud painted cakes like women,…
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"ain't hardly got a lick o' crabs today"
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Every morning when she arrived at work, Jackie filled her bright red cup with coffee, sat down at her desk and riffled through Women's Wear Daily to see if there were any candid photos taken of her walking down Fifth Avenue where…
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The days cut off by damp chill with every thought a different variety of protection.
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