597 5 3
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Underneath the fence she picked strawberriesThey were nickle sizedand some were red, some were green and some with a littleof both/in between They came up from the ground in little patchesand sweetness could be smelled on the windAs the cloud cover came…
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83544
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Now your dreams are
headed for the Rhyme or Reason
Convention
where they try to convince you
you can do this
Trying to make sense of
everything
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124673
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Sometimes you have to go wild; you have just to go fucking nuts. You do.
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121954
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has somehow gotten off its swaddled behind and put on its next new face, your own dipped in glass, of many green eyes for simple fair measure , lifting up my own morning lids with softly pulsating …
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122444
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I was so used to the silence of late summer afternoons, when I could roll my hoop through the empty, sunlit piazzas without meeting another shadow, that at first I mistook the footsteps for the beat of a metronome spilling through an open window.
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126044
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Lying on a high seat in the south study, this is what I see:
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113634
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Ascent/Assent
Together the horizon/
Catechism of love
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1469103
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She refuses to let her eyes cry. Her eyes played tricks on her and showed her one thing was really another. They don't deserve to cry.
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119732
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^ through a busted window in this desert…
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208922
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A solitary snake, his belly full, stretched out in the sun. His uncoiling swept sand and small rocks to the left and right. Ah, he thought, I have the power to move mountains from my path. See how the lowly earth makes way for my comfort.
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117344
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220044
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Tonight the autumn air is clear and still. There is no frost to compare to moonbeams; no wind carries lotus fragrance or rustles maple leaves.
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111944
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Ok, ok, people are forever asking me, so why did I cross the frickin’ road? Dumb-shit me, of course. Consequences waaay unforseen.
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115544
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Once there was a real honest to God holy spiritout there that was a gift of loving kindness meant for everyone to share; unfortunately, it was given to all the wrong people, or the wrong people simply stole it. Either way the wrong people are…
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31743
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161693
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I used to sneak away to my bedroom to write. I would get away any chance I could to jot down on paper my stories, my ideas, the rich stream of goodness that sprang from my little baby creative brain. It was pure joy.
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146753
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Now, gazing into Greg’s expectant eyes, the only Chinese word Deepti could summon was kuei. Ghost. Before that summer, her mother flipped through the pages of Maxine Hong Kingston’s memoir every day, as if she could glean magic from the touch of her finge
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146344
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Sitting near her desk, like a dunce cap,
red
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113524
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What
I learned/one summer/in the North East/Thessaloniki heat was. . . .
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94943
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I really think we ought to be drinking
The Wild Virgin again
I remember having a beer once
And feeling like a minor god, yes
Just like you did
So, now, listen to me: if she snores all night
That’s one thing
But if she screws the lights out
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86144
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fade away
glorious, golden
delicious
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126232
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Lama’s mother is dead. She died when Lama was just outgrowing her ballet tutus. When Lama talks about it, it is with the air of one who picks honeysuckle over jasmine. It gives sunshine, she says, to graves. Our epitaphs are so mechanical otherwise.
Un
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138444
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I have a ball-pein hammer in my coat pocket.
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114753
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I don't look like other poets. /
People hardly believe it when I say /
"I write poetry, sometimes. /
During lonely evenings."
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1143122
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full of mad hope / we dash into the street / leap into the fray / and enter splendiferous lists
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80244
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It’s good to get fucked in the rain.
It’s good to get fucked in the back seat of a power boat
on a river in the hot summer air with the mosquitos
sucking the life out of you.
It’s good to get fucked with your bare back
rubbing up against the
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90544
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"Beauty is an experience, nothing else. It is not a fixed pattern or an arrangement of features. It is something felt, a glow".. --D. H. Lawrence It's not about the lasso. That's so easily dangerous,…
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360382
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There's just no pleasing her.
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143853
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She asks if I only write about men, which I tell her is redundant. I also answer, “Yes, but sometimes I write about them as race cars, hyenas, vaginas, or God.”
She smirks like she wants to smile, but it’s stuck halfway out her door. Her happiness has
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134963
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Morning's first blush, their world in repose. Sated, drained, spent; …
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