120 0 0
|
This ounce of glistening flesh
protrudes like an inmate grasping
past the bars.
|
7182317
|
He built her as a playwright crafts a scene. For a lifetime he balanced the trickle of his love, his thoughts, his hope... his self... into her ears, until she became his story. [419 words] (Explicit language).
|
4410
|
Dear Jodi, Who are you? Seriously, I keep hearing your name but I have no idea who you are. I know you have something to do with Jonathan Franzen. Are you his ex-girlfriend? Listen. I don't know what he did to you, but…
|
95800
|
It had been almost a week since the “last time.” That's what he had shouted at Eduardo after they had returned the boat, after they had watched the mother walk free onto the mainland, childless. The authorities had caught up with them unusually quickly,…
|
90400
|
Not yet confident enough, for example, to feel free to interrupt, to suggest, to demur; not free of his desires his urgency (‘in the morning, fiddle diddle dee, when I rise’)
|
54330
|
George Martian had a piece of cinnamon chewing gum in his mouth while he packed, and his jawline went up and down in such a way that it was difficult to tell whether he was happy or sad, bored or reconciled.
|
103100
|
some are cameras, some are daggers, some are sauces pans, others are swords, and some will run off and others will burn a hole into the spot which they land.
|
58900
|
The rusted bars were bent for six memorable hours The beauty flew out, fast as she could To accompany city beasts with enthralling smiles anchored end to end After hefty storytelling of an Indian and Whiteman, The night fell victim to the sharp,…
|
7277
|
|
105021
|
“There’s enough food to last here a week.” Ferdinand assured, as a dingy wooden cabin came into view. They were on foot now. He’d insisted on forcing the car into a ravine, using a heavy rock and the last of the gasoline to drive it into a heap of rusted
|
157168
|
I live near a small village by the sea. A cobble stone road runs past twenty or so houses, then turns towards the water. From my own house, I can see the small harbor and the boat barn. In winter, the place is deserted.
|
12562
|
Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.
|
9687
|
That blue is not a colour but a territory of sight.
|
153107
|
In the west the sun is sinking. Thank you
|
