1192 8 4
|
She loves you when your words leave her dirty, semi-transparent, at times, overexposed.
|
88555
|
Here's to the new, trying ever so hard but not too hardto have an audience with their own personal God ontheir own super duper terms, wonder kids. Aren't theybeautiful, one of a kind cells, Ladies and Gentlemen? Thepaint job alone is worth the…
|
139255
|
While the other kids blew bubbles, Maddy clung to my neck. She didn't cry or scream, and she held on loosely, not with the death grip some kids have. For five Wednesday afternoons, Maddy wrapped her pudgy arms over my shoulders and rested her bottom on m
|
114174
|
The marble, it's just there.
I can't explain
how it got there
(or when),
all I know
is that everything
is in that marble.
By "everything,"
I mean every
thing. Your breakfast?
It's there.
|
165184
|
None of us ever thought this would happen.
|
95445
|
Their relationship had proved volatile. The husband had gone missing. The wife had gone dead.
|
113474
|
She’d reached me after running through the directory, alphabetically. Apparently no one in the a’s or b’s or c’s before me would talk to her.
|
113444
|
I planned to wear this shirt, /
blue, black, and white stripes, /
collar and pocket,
|
121973
|
Shit, I guess I'm gonna hafta
|
111544
|
I’m up to my kneecaps
in mockery and swill, and …
Excuse Me,
I’m Writing a Poem here?
Thank you. Sheesh!
As I was saying,
I’m up to my kneecaps in mockery and swill.
And I meet someone who
names all his fish after
people he doesn’t l
|
165682
|
Four in the morning. I was awake because I'm always awake. There were little fog-halos around the streetlights.
|
90054
|
Those resting in clusters of bones, Cradled in ashes of what once were homes.
|
196301
|
I retrieved the book from the middle of the room and set it in front of her. "Look," I said. "If we open the book up again at the beginning, Charlotte's alive. She'll always be alive in the book."
|
94944
|
Through the lonely night
All the roads are breathing
While somewhere on the road
The American soul lies bleeding
The past is all in yellow
The future’s all in blue
While living in the moment
Has lost its rosy hue
|
157454
|
It is late at night and you lean / over me to make sure your alarm is set.
|
148745
|
. . . a visitor from the preceding century would have been aghast to the point of vomiting to behold the regard with which pandas were now held almost universally.
|
93354
|
|
115164
|
It was 6 a.m. when the phone next to the bed awakened Francesco.
|
103154
|
I have constructed this emotion with tinfoil and stilts. I wear the mask of a typewriter. I have roots in Minnesota. I have a glass hat and a junkyard monstrosity pregnant with parables.
|
101553
|
An electromagnetic pulse/
scrubbed the servers./
The clouds wisped and blew away, empty./
Markets lost what little mind they had.
|
155835
|
The vampire donated floodlights so the children could play ballgames at night. The lights came on but the dugouts remained vacant. The vampire sat alone in the bleachers. “Sometimes I am less than the sum of my parts,” he said to the sum of his parts.
|
131054
|
It turns out I know a thing or two about momentum. I know, I know. Like the crescendo of your bicycle wheels. Like the force the florist put on the stems the day Linda died. The way my fingers spin between planetary mass. This is how I know I’m not real
|
1274104
|
"Middle class workers and working class poor and the unemployed will soon be forming a revolutionary movement to break this stranglehold of corrupt elites."
|
149174
|
|
89754
|
once he had planted Lucille things changed./his emptiness rivalled the hollow grave/dug for her . . .
|
90344
|
“It’s okay”
Her psychic from Santa Fe
Said on the speaker phone:
"live
and
love
and
create
otherwise
chaos"
|
123793
|
This is me pitching a recently completed screenplay to a film producer at lunch the other day:
|
98153
|
He went for long, quiet walks. These seemed to quell the seething rages swirling about him as he exhumed and reconstructed the truth of himself.
|
1446113
|
In May of 1982, my daughter and I planned a trip…
|
129663
|
The poet said, ‘I feel the fell of dark, not day.” but day it always is. Bright! Bright!
the city claims its blue salutes; its stopping in mid-sentence at a name where fingers roam a stone.
|
