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The retired, widowed receptionist slapped one hand to the base of her throat with a gasp . . .
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101733
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Better move ‘cause I hear them comin’ up the other side.
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112353
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134663
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Let’s say you know so little about me. Like whose idea of a joke to name me Hideo for excellent male. Or why I hang out at triangle Park, ogling expatriates or crusty punks.
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129533
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He didn't want to read his father's statement. Yet still he lingered, poised over the kitchen table, where his father had left it.
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134553
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And she tried to laugh, to justify her half evasion, to dismiss the memory of their vitriolic breakfast conversation.
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116132
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my loosening grip on time.
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111753
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only thoughts lost in lonely trails of red
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148553
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At James’ funeral, Edward recalled the Brooklyn night in James’ Chevy.
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61933
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I like to collect twilights. I fold them carefully and put them in my wallet. They fit neatly between the dollar bills that have a weird tendency to curl. This bugs me. I don't know why they do that. Something to do with the design of the wallet. But the twilights fit…
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164953
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A strange and unexpected shift has occurred.
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175463
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Cap'n Pepper tries and tries but Old Salty is never happy.
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166033
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Portions of my heart and bones
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47543
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There is someone looking for youfor himself or her. I don't know if they'll keep on looking forever when we live our present lives so far apart from each other. You might as well be behind a glass at all times. But I still would want that lucky…
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134862
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The water rolls gently this evening, barely touching my toes before retreating. The tide has been going out for over an hour and already there are several victims – crustaceans, spider crabs, minnows.
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131134
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What I Love About HistoryMy roommate, Cara, wears all black, which she thinks scares me. I've never bothered to tell her I wore all black for two years, eighth and ninth grade, and I'm just over it, not that I think she's lame or passé, but there's nothing remotely…
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78333
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By the time the forked tongue of the flag extended flat like it was pressed between two of my thick volumes on weather forecasting, the man was still walking with his nose glued to the ground.
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90982
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I’d met this crowd of drunken poets from San Francisco
Even though this was smack dab in the middle of winter
Smack dab in the middle of the flattened Illinois plains
Why they all left San Francisco I’ll never completely understand
But there we we
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82442
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Here in this land of cannabis...
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108741
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In praise of the colorful flock with crowns
of teased cotton candy rising high above
Modular walls, stalled operating systems
staling coffee and pale corner offices
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132853
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“I take him to see all those sexy movies,” she said, “because it puts the passion back in him. I love what he does to me when we get back home after those movies.”
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87862
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His beard is an eighteenth-century forest / in south central France
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88763
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Spring break that year, (1963) I spent nearly every minute with Lynda. Her taste for sex was unquenchable once we’d gotten started. We did it in every position possible. The sitting position in the front seat of the car, which my brother Herb had to expla
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107353
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Could even drift off to
New Orleans for a slow sip
of a hurricane
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119434
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“That pool will be the death of me.”Which Dad said at least a couple of times a week. Ten times the week after he'd read the TXU bill.“Goddamn pump, and that twitchy little Polaris. We should fill that pool with dirt and plant some trees and Asian…
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93753
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The world follows me everywhere. I can’t get rid of it. I’m being stalked by a planet.
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112543
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—Strip down to your shorts. Put on this gown, open to the rear.
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126853
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I'm gonna write about this after...It'll either be a tale of pain or pleasure hopefully the latterI don't understand how this workswhy sometimes I want to hide from myself other times I can just give in, fully,and everything isohsoheightenedI want it to be beautifuland…
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103432
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Boil (n.)––1. Pus-filled pustule inflammation of the skin, usually painful. 2. Slang boiled pus, bucket of (n. phrase)“Your asshole brain is a bucket of boiled pus.” (see also pus, SCOTTISH derogatory term for face.
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138943
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Except for the bathroom stalls—you know the one that goes “Here I sit all broken-hearted”—the only poetry in the house is composed by Hazel, recited to her fawning sycophants.
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