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Once there was a real honest to God holy spirit out there that was a gift of kindness for everyone, unfortunately given to all the wrong people, or the wrong people simply stole it. Either way the wrong people are still the same ones among us now who so…
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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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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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Sitting near her desk, like a dunce cap,
red
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What
I learned/one summer/in the North East/Thessaloniki heat was. . . .
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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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fade away
glorious, golden
delicious
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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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I have a ball-pein hammer in my coat pocket.
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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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full of mad hope / we dash into the street / leap into the fray / and enter splendiferous lists
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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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"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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There's just no pleasing her.
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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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Morning's first blush, their world in repose. Sated, drained, spent; …
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["And you can tear a building down ... but you can't replace ... the MEMORIES ... "]
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You never thought you were capable of rape.
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Each day he rolls that goddamned rock,
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When Quince came rolling up into my front yard that morning, we were up to our neck in August, staring down a seventh-grade year that had crept perilously close when we weren’t looking. I’m thirty-five years clear of it now, and I can still sense Texas on
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We all need a place to stay.
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. . . he wants to organize society into its most efficient configuration with everyone thinking alike and willingly cooperating. Only then, he believes, can humanity reach its full potential.
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If you’re Frederick in this moment, you are watching from that balcony and start to scream your fool head off. Maybe you just think you scream, and you might have screamed, but what you really do is clutch at your chest, black dots spanning each eyeball,
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Last night I decided to go through my bag of wind and sort things out. I'm a hoarder, and wind is no exception. I collect winds. I found two siroccos, five simooms, three foehns, eight Chinooks, ninety gales, thirty zephyrs, two nor'westers, a monsoon, a…
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America has given birth to many great poets--Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, Muhammad Ali--but why should talented people have all the fun?
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I assume the shape of a pronoun.
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IN BOX 12 OF DD FORM 214, the Department of Defense requires a narrative reason for every military discharge. Mine reads: Continued involvement of a discreditable nature with civilian and military authorities.
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" History ...is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake."
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behind your one perfectly showcased yet irreplaceable earlobe, like a still inflated island-- in order to float away on any slight rogue gust of gregarious wind-- seedling tool kit and so I mistakenly thought I'd just …
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