998 6 4
|
And no one died achieving aristeia/
in this battle. We have come/
at least some little distance.
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250872
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In the kitchen they discovered the instruments. A flute under the sink tucked behind a rusted silver pipe. An oboe on the floor in the pantry. And a violin across the ice tray in the freezer, now dark.
"Not ice," sister said, holding it up by the neck.
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167533
|
In the spring, my father would dress for class in a bear costume and chase students around campus.
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114955
|
The blind can be a little bit
Angry now and then
Trying to be independent
They don’t want or need your help
Usually. They’re a little like bees
You have to learn to leave them alone
But I remember one day when I
Guided the fingers of Bli
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128455
|
When Carol complained about a pain in her back, Frank didn't think much about it. Her back—especially her shoulders—hurt most of the time he'd known her, almost fifteen years, from sitting in front of a computer all day. It was an old story. “But …
|
1234103
|
Words are looking ever so strange today
like a hole in space
a wind in a cloud
a face superimposed over a mountain
|
146975
|
Traveling in half-lit fluorescence, she smiles up at me, pale and strained
|
71544
|
The Guy Behind Me
only had one item.
And he looked too young
to fully grasp
Loneliness.
|
100564
|
Cold smoke from the crater
Breathes on our eyelashes;
The abysmal emptiness held
Its breath just once.
|
115584
|
on cd I make
john hiatt does not smash
perfectly good guitar
|
124074
|
the stars might be the audience or they might not be
if the beat sits right next to me and hugs me nasty
|
125444
|
unwrapping
the gauze from her wrists....
|
1925133
|
We lived in a Holiday Inn trying not to be depressed that life had turned out to be so much like Eastenders, trying not to acknowledge that the thrill we’d got out of each other was the thrill of giving in to the wrong thing. We had more sex than ever b
|
187065
|
My Grandma caressed
my sleeping Grandfather’s feet
as we sat in his hospital room after hours.
|
477555
|
Camper Stacks arrived at the offices of BURN magazine on January 14, 1989 in a state of unaccustomed joy: Lou Reed was going down.
|
52364
|
|
9764
|
This was my father's diagnosis of my perpetual misery as an adolescent. “If I thought as much as you do, I'd go crazy.” Probably true as he was an Auschwitz survivor. To him, it was important to substitute…
|
246974
|
In his dream, he was choking on an ice cube. He didn’t know what would happen first — if it would melt or he would die.
|
121964
|
The sad march goes ever on. It stretches endlessly over an eternity of painful hills, as unnatural as lumps under the skin, into the deserted broken down streets, the forgotten unprotected alleyways, always adding more and more lost children to…
|
115054
|
He gave her his driving range and she gave it back. She didn’t know what a bogey was. Arms akimbo he smiled and licked the China cat by the window.
|
157643
|
1. BLAME THE PARENTS This seems to be the most popular position on social platforms. Mom and Dad should have been watching this kid more closely. Period. Because how could any good parent fail to notice their own child climbing over a…
|
104694
|
You slit your eyes and flick your cigarette in front of an oncoming car. I see how easily you could be that oncoming car.
|
114974
|
Not all ideas are bad, just mine.
|
125174
|
sprang straight up to their full galloping heights roaming over your hills like constantly shifting eyes, your strange approximated illuminating hair like ghosts giving birth to a tender smell of green sea foam. This was all I saw, but it was quite…
|
118274
|
|
130864
|
i dream a thousand interconnected pictures. i dream the future. i dream we are together. i dream i love you. i dream i am forgiven. i dream you care. i dream nice dreams. i go to the bank. i deposit my check. i pay the rent. i pet the cat. i…
|
131274
|
Bill Watterson isn't just the creator of the world's best comic strip. According to the book “Looking for Calvin and Hobbes,” a biography of the elusive and reclusive cartoonist, Watterson is also a world-class introvert. Watterson refuses to make…
|
111994
|
As a child I drowned myself in the pages of books, and as a writer I prefer to be left alone with my imagination.
|
154143
|
I cannot read one more award winning novel by a female Asian author about the atrocities committed against their childhood, she thought. Then she sat down with her trusty yellow pad and Papermate fineline to write the next lyrical story of a female Asian writer and the…
|
152863
|
You took up residence on the dark side of things, a bolthole in a wind-flayed right angle of a tower block where pigeons and suicides tumbled blackly on the air currents. You set about drifting off from who you were on a tide of cheap whisky and bad poetry, graduating…
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