426 18 16
|
|
180655
|
|
180967
|
The wind is wet today I can't tell you where sky meets sea only that it matters I can't explain why. I've triedCan't see the horizonbut I know that we have drawn itfingers tracing far pastthe edge of blind infinitywhere we sang stars to sleepand pinned our…
|
19472114
|
I don't want / to write about the body indulged, desires / denied, tortures invented, pleasures innate
|
17611616
|
To See Who's There Able these days to search through centuries, I click, scribble, cut and paste, skim, reject, record, resurrect a wet stone wall, the smell of burning peat. Bob's your uncle, Peggy's …
|
21602719
|
We are not alone, not as alone as we think.
|
5391610
|
The diagnosis? A lesion. Of
enthusiasm, Fitzgerald said.
|
18791915
|
“What does the future hold?”
|
14601410
|
My grandfather was ninety three. My mother was sixty three. I was thirty three. My daughter had just turned three. Our ages were all lined up like the beauty marks on Snow White in the Donald Barthelme version of the story.
|
205699
|
What if I said;
I never liked actually reading?
|
2071613
|
|
1589148
|
|
152655
|
|
7221
|
|
126411
|
Remain in repose, a little longer.
|
