56 11 7
|
The knowledge that gravity will root us, finally
and forever, in the clay beneath our feet
|
3244217
|
Today with flowers in
every room
for what doesn't matter
I am well aware
what you want
I am a monster
waiting...
mournful...
|
18183526
|
On Friday nights I'm not there.
|
92231
|
st. paul is steeped in fog.
mist and rain make the north side a grainy
faded photograph, almost timeless.
|
900
|
Lust lobbed sideways every Tuesday from Ed's tongue; skimmed the blackboard and passed under the desks to land squarely in my crotch.
|
1700
|
|
3022
|
Fires stitch crooked seams
between remnants of sky.
|
4041
|
That face reflected in the glass
cannot be mine,
|
5785
|
while fingers fiddle across the air,
sewing cloth I cannot see.
|
3432919
|
a terrible shadow of words in the knot of sword vs. pen
|
96138
|
They often hold each other's hands,
pretending to avoid the eyes
of boys who wish, but never voice
the dangerous, forbidden words of love.
|
30393
|
Didn't the ACLU say that people
who have sex in the closed stalls of a public restroom have a reasonable expectation of privacy? Do you think that's still true if you can see the feet
moving awkwardly under the door?
|
20800
|
Begin at Settler’s Cemetery, 5:00pm is social hour. Notice the bottle blond in a skirt suit talking to the banker in neatly pressed chinos. Next to them, a yorkie taking a shit on the grave of founder Thomas Polk. Downwind a homeless man on a bench encirc
|
2853
|
The sun slides over
the shoulders of the hills.
|
343109
|
Memphis’ man. Androgynous scam.
Colonel Tom's Cadillac King.
|
