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We weren't supposed to talk about Jimmy's glass eye. We just had to watch it stare at us all wonkie, without knowing a thing about it.
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He can’t enlarge the rock—/
can only find its safest distance
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The man and the whore lay in bed together. It was a cold night and they were warmed by the heat beneath the…
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Then I did the same to you, inhaling your scent which was one thing at your hairline and another at your collarbone.
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WANTED: a Muse.
Former Special Forces solider turned poet seeking artistic inspiration. Brunettes preferred but blondes will not be turned away; gingers, however, are out of the question. Must have a voice that sounds like money, a self-destructive tem
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Beneath their feet bedrock stretched a hundred miles
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If I felt like reading a book
then I would read a book
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the poems/
we never got to will remain,
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Someone must bear witness//
at a comfortable remove.
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When she was nineteen, she began to brew a baby in her belly. She named it, and sang to it, and organized the leftover hand-me-downs that hadn't been worn ragged through by the first seven sets of recipients.
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The bar was packed. Fascinated, Tom watched the shenanigans going on around him.
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No one writes epics anymore. Why? Perhaps it's because we no longer share mythologies. Once there was a shepherd, and now there is a Google bus loaded with pricks. Yes, you say, but they are good at math. Each and every one of them. And this is true. I envy them…
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When I was a boy, I always wondered if Dad were black. No one in our small town looked like Dad. He had the thick features of an Arab. If he let his hair grow, it piled up in messy loafs on his head. Of course, I never asked Dad about any of this. I wasn'
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"Why didn't they just elevate the drug levels and kill her off like that?"
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Safe does not ride horses at sunsetSnorkel in MolokaiRaft down a swollen river.It does not steal kisses in a darkened theaterTouch the inside of a thigh under a restaurant table.Safe does not declare war.It chooses dinner every night at sixMass every SundayConfession once a…
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Came to admire Kiyoko Matsumoto. Japanese. Aged 19. Lesbian. 1933. Jumped into a volcano.
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I'm staying in swinging all night
Hell not just all night but every night
I can possibly sink my teeth into
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Only blood I got on me was pulling him over onto my seat when I got out.
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Not quite full, but bright,/
December 23rd.__
A waning moon for New Year’s Day-/
Portent?
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It came from the animal shelter, seizing and shivering, with eyes almost bigger than its head. Eyes that followed Pearl like it couldn’t stuff the whole picture of her in its tiny skull.
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My mother and I are close We talk like friends I tell her about people I'm dating She gets excited for me And she asks how it's going When I tell her I think I'm gay She says nothing She does not ask about the woman I am seeing She does not ask how I am doing …
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The kind of poem poets write and read. I mean, hey I was feelin’ it HARD at 3:24 am, and this is what spilled out.
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It was a battered, creaky, rickety old thing, this wheelbarrow. It had two wooden handles with cracks running through the wood, a fat rubber wheel and a deep tray encrusted with the mud and plaster and grout that it had transported through decades of heavy use. Based on…
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I sneak glances of her unhooking the clasp, taking it off, so that her back is bare, and I can see the muscles, the bones underneath move as she puts the new one on...
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in the deep dark of
a 2 a.m. atmosphere
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The nerves are birds that guide us to feeling the loop and lift of reverie.
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