1780 7 4
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“Americans like beer, right?” he asks. “It’s not acceptable for a woman to buy beer.” He proffers it in a brown paper bag.
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78844
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I didn't arrive at the Wicked Spoon every night in the same mood. Some nights I would arrive under the spell of a generous emptiness, what I like to call the euphoria of futility. Not exactly a state of bliss, but a dazed detachment in which everything is so pointlessly…
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179454
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104594
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They asked each other at Court-suggested AA meetings: What can Texas do but throw us in jails already packed with low-life scum?
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129254
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Eroica sprawled among/
the horns and violins
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267545
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It’s true enough my status as honorary male has come in handy in my profession, but I never considered matters of the flesh. I feel a surge of warmth between my thighs as if a cock is dangling there, thick and florid. The sensation is oddly exciting.
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195484
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At first we envied Tom and Betty’s dancing. Friday nights at The Big Club, Saturdays at Mickey’s, and none of us can remember a time we saw them in the arms of another partner.
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94665
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tentacles of stringy rains opens up the stage antics for this common February day to the fidgety audience at hand but it appears that they just won't be able to grab on, not this time. The familiar grumpy wind with…
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1734163
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He doesn’t intend to lie after this. For now, he just wants to take in the sea and the quiet.
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191684
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It don't knock you down to the goddamned ground and push your face into the mat and dare you to get back up. Just so it can knock you down again. They don't have real dreams. Dreams that make them wake up in the middle of the night. Hurting. Wanting.
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169145
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On Soapography, two actresses are discussing
everyone’s personal heaven, and in another room
you can hear a woman who is your dead mother
combing her hair in a doctor’s smock in a dream,
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129955
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A hot summer night walks into a bar and orders a drink.
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162583
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the sound of ashes/ being poured in the kitchen
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119764
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And no one died achieving aristeia/
in this battle. We have come/
at least some little distance.
|
318572
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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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197733
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In the spring, my father would dress for class in a bear costume and chase students around campus.
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135255
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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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151655
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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 …
|
1466103
|
Words are looking ever so strange today
like a hole in space
a wind in a cloud
a face superimposed over a mountain
|
176075
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Traveling in half-lit fluorescence, she smiles up at me, pale and strained
|
97944
|
The Guy Behind Me
only had one item.
And he looked too young
to fully grasp
Loneliness.
|
126164
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Cold smoke from the crater
Breathes on our eyelashes;
The abysmal emptiness held
Its breath just once.
|
139784
|
on cd I make
john hiatt does not smash
perfectly good guitar
|
147574
|
the stars might be the audience or they might not be
if the beat sits right next to me and hugs me nasty
|
158644
|
unwrapping
the gauze from her wrists....
|
2409133
|
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
|
237065
|
My Grandma caressed
my sleeping Grandfather’s feet
as we sat in his hospital room after hours.
|
561255
|
Camper Stacks arrived at the offices of BURN magazine on January 14, 1989 in a state of unaccustomed joy: Lou Reed was going down.
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70864
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9764
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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…
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