657 4 2
|
You. You are like a pill, best taken with peroxide in the middle of The Sahara while playing a drunken game of William Tell with William S. Burroughs. Your side-effects include: Regurgitation Broken apartment leases Loss of…
|
1489109
|
Sometimes, they beat their masters home...
|
100
|
|
19110
|
Trust these feats that do not movein the eye of the world but the will it doth weave;Tho hopes once lost to dreaded dreamscome 'round once more to till the seeds;Where I await on thee to beof turning wheels, of desert leas;Of golden sun, of thundered sky,the erg we fill,…
|
2900
|
two small poems connected by the mud
|
33232
|
eat the marshmallows, fuck the cereal
|
14320
|
cigarettes are clocks that measure still time
|
4000
|
Wheat and the city. Would it make a good new show?
The story of milled wheat, AKA flour, navigating
The beltway to get to the last standing patisserie in Baltimore?
No, because wheat isn’t a protagonist. Is it driven by a
Buxom girl with thin
|
19592515
|
Do you suppose you could make your female protagonist a salamander rather than a human?
|
25300
|
|
148543
|
You lose her. In the vortex of guttered water, her tangled hair entwines. Tornado-like. Her body spinning boisterously at its core. Her name: Izra—the wooden doll with black pebbled eyes. …
|
127774
|
we're not at war / with the world. We have papers.
|
5710
|
My son in seventeen syllables...
|
100
|
|
137583
|
the sound of ashes/ being poured in the kitchen
|
