Stories tagged prose-poem

sur•veil•lance

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maintained by as many pocket-protectors as Big Brother Big Sister requires

Can Anybody Here Juggle?

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What was that film in the '80s, him so cynical, so beautifully stoned?

Oed is Dead

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I COULD always sleep. Go "home" now and sleep. My body and my fetus—who complain of this torture—would appreciate sleep. I have something to do that is not sleep. I have something to do that is not sleep. I have to try to wake.

Too many leaves

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This late November day there are too many leaves filling the yard.

Poem for the betraying Lover and his new Love

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Wishing he holds you all night, unshaven chin/between your breasts.

I Am Not What You Want So I’ll Be What You Fear

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And the light bathes you in cold white. And your light runs through my fingers. And all your colours fade into a monochrome sky. Make me ash. Make me cinders. Those embers have no memories. And I have a forest to burn. I am nothing but these words. I …

Elemental

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It was in the last expulsion/explosion (theories differ) that we became OneWith. Tsunami. Seism. Zud. All matter cast out outcast came back like a gangster on crack. What did it think it was? Who do we think we are? It thinks we think it thinks…

Hot Dog Hot Dog

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A man on the sidewalk dressed as a hot dog hits a triangle dinner bell with a clang and yells for everyone to come and eat at Hot Dog Hot Dog. We were feeling more like fish and chips or spicy pulled pork, but there's something about how…

On Literature

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Believe in every word, and you just might find the truth.

When Hadrons Collide

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When hadrons collide they’re not always Swiss. They may be cheese or neutral but that isn’t of my concern. Look at them, touch them, feel them, the quirks of the antiquarks, masonic mesons, baron baryon.

On Nothing to Write Home About

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I think of you

Haying

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It is not unusual for farmers to see the future before it’s begun—but I am not speaking here only of the need to hope but more. . . .

Chocolate Dog

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My ghost has already been places I'll never see.

Stop-time Animation of the Cosmos

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Reality for us must be broken so we can fix the one small insect of it we can capture and pin, wriggling.

Sisyphus

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He’s more than a little pissed at all this eternal boulder rolling.