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Falling Water almost fell./
12 million dollars later//
it will splay itself a little longer
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When I was sixteen, my dad’s new wife and her daughter, Mary Ann, moved in, so I had to get out. I found a burned-out one story place on Corey Road near the gas plant. When it wasn’t raining, you could see right up through the roof to the stars.
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There he was. Minnesota Fats, short and pudgy, jowly and blond-haired.
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The night we crossed the Madres my father stuffed his Stetson full of cash.
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You, the correct Other, the one I am looking for, you have exacting standards concerning where things must go.
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I knew I was on the wrong bus, but jumping off was a death sentence. I was afraid, but by then I was used to that.
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She is cutting his hair. The wind is in her curls. She rises and falls like a sleeping animal. He has removed his shirt. There is a towel around his neck, the smell of spice and banana, the scent of vacations. You are reminded of the time in the beach house in Florida…
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The man had come up behind me and locked my arms backwards. I could feel his cock or gun against my low back. He told me if I moved he'd hurt me and he said did I know what that meant? I did know, however I was watching from…
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She'd have to be careful, but couldn't you just see it?
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A small poem about incipient insanity
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Walking to class, Paula routinely fishes around in her purse to be sure the condom she thinks of as a close friend, even naming it Rhonda, is in there to help her avoid a pregnancy yet, even so, Paula admits that sometimes she daydreams in that boring economics class,…
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I had felt suddenly lighter and next thing I knew I was watching Leonard Tucker and Sister William from somewhere near the ceiling. I saw myself, too, at my desk, holding my songbook out in front of me like everyone else.
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r luv iz gud enuf 4 a tat2
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What I wanted was long-in-the-sheets sex...
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There is no hate in his eyes...
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....the first/
in a long history of indignities.
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What's missing from their bodies is nothing compared to what's missing in their heads. One man in particular, now almost 80. Wakes to the smell of napalm, cigarette smoke, gasoline. Is he still feverish? Will the fungus rot his foot? But he remembers he
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I had told myself that I would not cry. That I would hold on to my anger so tightly, there would be no space for pity.
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You say boxer briefs, I say pillbox hats
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Together / they peeled and fed each other pink fruit, / ordered expensive pink beef, went on / vacations and viewed pink sunsets / on paradise beaches.
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Does flight exhilarate the sparrows
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What scares her about libraries are unshelved books, the ones you thumb through while you are waiting for the elevator, because you realize that there are too many books in the world and you are holding that particular book only because it is lost.
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There are simply no more words around me quite full enough yet to sort of cancel outthese more than emptied ones. I'm sorry. There might be some forever fields left ofcrowded purple flowers if you look hard enough but no mountain's majestyto…
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I don't think dogs like to die with the pack.
The smell of them rotting brings trouble in the wild,
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One by one I lost my desires.
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Talking about a Friend Over a Cup or Two of Coffee “Their first fight was over school lunches. Free school lunches. She taught Kindergarten in a public special ed center for emotionally disturbed children. The…
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You might as well be the man on the moon. Once touching your face was quotidian. When I tallied each day's pleasures, you, in this room or that, counted too much for me, I think. I stopped record keeping. I'm …
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