1342 4 3
|
Until the ivy hides me in
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10252
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I need an elderly woman to lick my eyeballs clean
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178721
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flash read. have fun *cheers*
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152531
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7 — IT'S HARD TO HAVE FRIENDS WHEN YOU'VE NEVER HAD ANY AND ARE STILL FUCKING WHINING ABOUT IT — Once he learned he didn't “bring anything to the table,” Worthless Veikass hit on the notion of [...]
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142152
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I always sat in the backseat of the Dodge when my Dad drove, never in the front seat beside him. It was safer there when he ran over the dogs that wandered onto the road.
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156633
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Other things are on my mind when the Tupperware lady says, "First, let's move your couch over by the door and the table here."
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192532
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We fucked in the backseat like the verse of a b-side, and that was enough to make him think my boys were half of his body.
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116132
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I used to be a poet, you know. /
Better, in many respects, than you.
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102123
|
The weather, mid-sixties now,
will take its toll on
this singular voice.
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127233
|
He reacted as if I had sprinkled holy water upon his furnaces.
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157852
|
She jumped into the hole the other day. The hole that sucks little girls into the universe, and doesn't return them. I had to watch it. I had to watch her sitting on the dock. Lean over, and fall in. I couldn't have saved her. Nor God. Or Jesus. Not the bridge. …
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101733
|
I am from slow diagnoses, impatience and parents skeptical of New York City doctors. I am from tall buildings, yogurt shakes, and envy for my brother's asthma machine. I am from here, stay away from there, don't get too close, be careful at the edge, the…
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137832
|
She never saw me pull the wings off live flies or throw wood lice in the fire just to see them shrivel, drown a beetle in a stream of warm pee.
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251252
|
Don Galt’s butterflies swallowed Peter Robinson’s holdings on a cool and cloudy December afternoon.
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108233
|
I’m well aware of the shadow stalking just to my left, her mannish voice flirting with my sensibilities.
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121133
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he wanders the house/ crying for the hairless tomcat/ (gone for the night/ on an overnight job).
|
109752
|
They build them high they do in Waveland, Mississippi.The tall houses with their skinny thighs spread wide flirting with the dusky coast, like antebellum ladies petticoats lifted, stockings wetted, ankles bared, savingtheir hems from the unpredictable tide,…
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108233
|
Fragment’s of ignorance strewn by a haphazard hand
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102052
|
It’s not like I could tell anyone. I hum a song my mother sang to me as a child. A dressed-up soprano to calm the tail I’ve grown.
|
119591
|
Okay, I'm here; I'm participating. Enjoying the back & forth with other writers. Waiting for penises and fetuses to move down the "Most Recent" list, but working around them. Well, that's kind of unintentionally visual.This essay, like many other reads on here, is…
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88333
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I am not
a Road Scholar,
ladies & gentlemen,
though I’ve been
On the Road
more than once.
Do not mistake me
for a bum.
I am not a hobo,
homeless or otherwise,
in this life
or any other,
I am not a bum,
I insist.
But I d
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101872
|
I remember one afternoon when Terry and I did it in broad daylight in a nearby park in Lombard, or Glen Ellen. This was after we had broken up already and I was seeing Jolene, I think, before leaving to go out to my writing program at U.C. Irvine. It wa
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114163
|
No temporary solace upon this patch of earth,
stymied in your injury; labored by your girth.
|
125442
|
They waited not a moment longer than was necessary But moved right in and
Began their loathsome ch
|
101742
|
|
97072
|
Cold, wet and dreary.The three words that describe Belgium. A country that owns so little identity. Sure, there are the mussels, beer, wafels and chocolate ... But that's about as far as it goes. The lack of identity rules the country, grayness rules the horizon. And…
|
120862
|
Your brother is not really blind.
|
81933
|
my heartis a brokenstandpipefanningcity water cayenneacross sidewalksgutters ripple redover fast food bagsand cigarette buttsover the feetof priests and pit bullsover the handsof drunksand babiesand into the mouthsof ratsand raconteurs you never oughtadrink…
|
133672
|
Fingers of angry red welts crossed his face and neck.
|
98433
|
Whenever I get the urge to write a poem I try to talk myself out of it.
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