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My relationship to poetry resembles that of Patty Hearst, the newspaper heiress, to her abductors.
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“We’re on our way to gold country to find the American Dream.” No point in mentioning the huge prairie dogs, the ones swarming and screeching beneath the horses in their Hell’s Angel gear and Nixon masks.
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Wherever you decide to grow
Please remember to ask the dirt
‘Am I still dust’
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Grace looks at her cell phone. It had been about a week since her Aunt Margaret fell, slipping gracefully down the stairs and pulling her shoulder out as she grabbed the banister, her hand caught in the holiday streamers spiraling down the railing. Every
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His mother named him Far because she had high hopes for him
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The Marigold gloves are yellow (figures!) and medium, the apron ironed with a touch of starch added...
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Once we’d mellowed from the wine, our little group of friends grew reflective. We started talking about our “bucket lists”–how we were going to spend the remainder of our years before we lapsed into senility.
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The funk of wet wool, stinky feet, reeking armpits, stale beer and fried food created a bohemian fetor.
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“Each animal has its own strength.” She insisted. “And if the rooster were provoked. It would kill a snake.”
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I was about sixteen or seventeen when James Miller had a stroke and died. He was a friend of my father's and a preacher-guy. The last time our church had been that full was at the barbecue the weekend after the church was built. Somehow, the structure went…
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her skin was delicate, fragile, that old woman skin that appears to be translucent.the rip caused by the knife opened it up like tissue paper. blood welled for a moment, then poured out with real purpose.this was the delight he found in old ladies.. the scent of their…
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After our first kiss,
a team of scientists
scrubbed away the cancer
of your lipstick.
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Near Christmas in Chicago they used to have these pictures of a five dollar bill on billboards all around the city, with the caption: Take Abe to Mass. On the front steps before going into the church, we encountered a ver
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Lover’s leap to a bank of smooth shale/
Where I sat drinking beer that past summer/watching a group of hard shell Baptists/line up to be saved in it’s muddy waters
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writing because it's the only drug i havesick on sadnessas the weight of the moment crumbling around me comes down some sweet second inspires…
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Deciding what is important from the life of a man that you haven't spoken to in ten years was a task that had seemed impossible at the outset. But now, here she stood, having done just that.
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That Loving Feeling
How do I love thee?
I love the bulge
of your breast
along the inside
of my upper arm
when you lie on top
kissing me
I love
feeling the movement
of your nipple
along the tender skin
there
It
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At this time of night, the fluorescence makes his eyes bleed. The muscles in his legs are tight; walking's more of a necessity than anything else. Alexander pushes the shopping cart down the endless gray tile floors of the Grand Union on 35.
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I don't have the feelings of self-worth a young woman should have, Monica Lewinsky tells the nation. She seems to understand there will always be some amount of ice beneath her.
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It’s possible that you’re dying. Every headache a brain tumor, your friend once said. You laughed then. Now you begin to see what he meant.
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My father did not die before I was born. That much I can cite as not only fact but an absolute necessity to my existence. However, my father is dead. You can wrap as much sentiment and emotion around it as you wish, but you can't get away from the blunt…
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Summer nights in Boston, old cast iron streetlights.
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This must never get out in the press, for it would cause widespread panic. The priests would surround my house, not to mention the police and possibly the army. Castor Desayuno has come back from the dead!
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I remember when we first met, telling my friends, He’s so pretty I’d dump my boyfriend for him.
I remember driving all around Elmhurst looking for parking. We sat in the car eating figs and popcorn. We tried to throw the fig pits or stumps, or wh
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You wake up. Slowly but surely. Okay, you're in the bookshop. Yes, apparently this is where you slept, on the floor, with absolutely no sense of irony, in the romantic fiction section...
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keep your fiberwigs in check
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"I see flashing bright bacteria floating in the air," he replied, not bothering to think about the words. "I see puffs of smoke issuing from inappropriate objects. Fingertips. Baby carrots. Furniture... Oh, Christ," he seethed, arching again. "Get me some
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