118 7 3
|
{I}threw my head into a bar before happy hour ended to find The Quiet Man projected onto the back wall, just in time to see Seán Thornton’s lean-in-to-kiss; Mary Kate pure as a storm in the graveyard’s alluring loneliness.
|
144264
|
To hear my name, called out across the Roman stones on a bridge in Regensburg through the languid March drizzle,
was to breathe again as my head burst through the water.
|
17511310
|
She stuffed the stars down her stockings
and left;
|
16454
|
Blankly, I watch from the safety of a satellite the giant swirl of cloud, seemingly innocent from this distance,
bearing down on Leyte Island.
|
23274
|
Earlier in my career as fantasist, I imagined my uncle had been a warrior
in his previous life – not a soldier adorned with medals in full military regalia
mind, but more a half-naked spear-wielding tribal chief in face paint.
|
44232
|
Returning word for word, I, in
my nightmare, bore an audience
from the building
|
27287
|
Increase the volume of the music in a bar and rather than ask for it to be turned back down, people will gladly yell across the table at each other. It must have begun as a social experiment, to gauge interaction, or test hearing, or train people to be…
|
17833
|
Do not compare the darkness to the night
|
1504118
|
The wind has no voice
and yet we listen,
perhaps imagining the ramblings
of a mad man
|
38001913
|
Somebody pushed the automatic fuck-you button today,
not the due-to-the-volume-of-submissions-we-receive button,
nor the it-does-not-fit-our-editorial-needs button;
|
20021912
|
Say the word and I shall become
a photograph;
|
148998
|
Sleep is a steep comfort these stock-still nights -
the ceiling an artexed breadth of angst,
the blue power light of the laptop in the corner
exhorting me to turn it on
|
137354
|
A man with bleeding hands at the back door of Out of the Closet
this morning asked me for the bride and groom figurines at the
top of my donation box
|
130385
|
They are plastering on lipstick in pay-to-enter toilets
around the corner from the mosques, where old men
sit on back streets selling toilet seats, spices by the
shovel, flashlights, and Audrey Hepburn t-shirts
|
1421149
|
I never thought I’d miss the sound of church bells, reminding me of my sudden apostasy,
faintly ringing over the rumpus where even the birds can’t get a word in edgeways.
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