117 6 7
|
Frail lips created the shapes of vowels, the vestiges of make-up in the cracked grikes, her eyes as a baby’s; comprehending, yet not.
|
10899
|
Above the trees at the top of the lane, the Dublin Mountains stretch out in their low granite might, Neolithic graves scattered here and there, and the corries and ribbon lakes carved by the last Ice Age glazed by a winter covering of frost and ice.
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8677
|
The poem about the butterfly that sang arias reminds me of the desiccated shell of the snapping turtle behind the outhouse. Clapboard houses and rusted drainpipes litter the highway like scattered kindling. Song of the opossum, song of the mournful. Spit and shine the…
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9944
|
Smoke from McDonogh's timber yard rises cumulusly over the city.
Off shore a curragh with three men bobs in the heavy swell. Clouds. Green water. The splash of oars echoes.
|
125109
|
By the fire in the hotel room she rubbed the soles of his feet with quartered lemons, balling her fist and running the knuckles from toes to heel and back again.
|
13476
|
She, for her own comfort, palmed several Xanax and allowed the pillowy distance between them to inoculate her from his barrage of criticism.
|
10266
|
That bottle of Oban your agent sent on publication of your novel is completely drained, the congratulatory note in silver Sharpie still readable on the glass.
|
9866
|
Back in the day she’d have been done for fraud by the church, but now it seems they’re so starved for new congregants they’ll overlook most sins on the spectrum.
|
10155
|
· Frozen chestnuts make for poor bedfellows · Too many people in paisley make me nervous · Three manuscripts strike a pose on the floor of…
|
12365
|
Fridays we’d scour the racks of the newsagents for the weekly comics, always trying to steal the free gifts inside the issues, watching for the shop girl to go into the back for her tea break.
|
3141111
|
Perhaps, teetering on the edge of the garage, I might take flight myself over the treetops?
|
12498
|
Unseen creatures squirm and mingle beneath the soft loamy earth.
The flat of the mountain is fog-shrouded.
|
9155
|
One of the old fellows was buying a quart of whiskey, already peeling the brown bag away from the neck of the bottle, when he said to the shopkeeper, “Lives down the swampy end of town. Grotesque. Swear it’s two eyes travel in different directions.”
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8022
|
When he drank the saliva dried up and the white crust built up about his lips as each swallow made a sad summer.
|
11676
|
It isn’t until I fling the whiskey onto the fire that you roar at me in the manner I recall from childhood.
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