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Total Poetry: 82 | Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
De nada. ... Continue Reading

Posted: March 30th, 2006

Of course he likes the deep end best-- the green shadows beneath the diving board, where cocoa buttered ladies once floated and roasted between turns in the resort's only hot tub. Officials are calling him "Kokomo," and say that the eleven-foot barnacled behemoth has adjusted beautifully to his heated saltwater suite. According to the jocular hotel management, he's been relaxing here for t ... Continue Reading

Posted: March 30th, 2006

Yesterday, in the mirror’s reflection I saw myself hanging on the back of the door. Startled, I pressed my hand to my throat— just my coat, an illusion. It was nothing more. I thought it was me on the back of the door in some twisted suspension, some horror film rigging but it was merely illusion, it was nothing more, no blood on the floor, no sobbing or begging. In some twisted susp ... Continue Reading

Posted: March 26th, 2006

The matchbox houses drew out behind the northbound New York train— those bitter little houses with their balding chain link yards and narrow cement stoops. And Cash told me he shot a man in Reno but I hardly understood. The train drew out behind me— impossible caterpillar worming way through damp and rotten east coast wood. ... Continue Reading

Posted: March 26th, 2006

I want to write poems like Manet still-lifes— the small ones— chalky oysters and accompanying lemons, the violets and a folded fan, a pale rose tucked into an unlikely gold brioche— those condensed and curd-y works by a syphilitic man more famous for audacious nudes and luncheons sur l’herbe. How pedestrian, how utterly derivative to want such perfect pregnant morsels of a student’s ... Continue Reading

Posted: March 26th, 2006

You threw your ruined sign away and said my lips were blue even though yours are, too— so this is what's left of "us," just four blue lips who used to kiss squashed, clammy, rain-hammered, shivering in the backseat of Laura's car, with ink pooling on our socks from the signs that said "Drop Bush Not Bombs!" until the storm pulped them, we're listening to public radio, and talking about ... Continue Reading

Posted: March 16th, 2006

I want to do something stupid Something I’ll regret, surely To forsake my right to calculation To reclaim my inheritance To start over, in some nameless city, where we’re both strangers Where we could take fake names And create new me’s, and you’s Where everyone else would be “they,” or “them” Where we would grow weary of one another, surely And I would crawl out the bathroom window ... Continue Reading

Posted: March 15th, 2006

I saw you eyeing up the bookshelves, Henry-- drifting between factory woven rugs and pillows, through the reek of Swedish meatballs, past blue-haired punks selecting plastic flatware, couples shoving strollers past futons, cribs. I followed you up the escalator-- you took the steps two at a time, humming, eager to reach the sales racks, desperate to touch paper lampshades, and debate th ... Continue Reading

Posted: February 23rd, 2006

pumpkins(both gooseneck and jack o' lantern) shoes(our mom's) baked corn, wrapped in tinfoil overripe zucchini a frozen chicken Mike didn't want her to cook cantaloupes tennis balls for the golden retriever dead hermit crabs she'd eat next week pizza casseroles water balloons burnt toast ... Continue Reading

Posted: February 16th, 2006

We weren't good friends with time that year, since everything always became more than it seemed apartments turned into treehouses and night clubs, with Stephanie sleeping on couches between road trips to Kent County, and a hot Fourth spent laying smoke bombs, despite our political rage, smoke bombs that fizzled out in blurry colors, blue and green to match Ben's fading hair, or the lawn-c ... Continue Reading

Posted: February 14th, 2006

Total Poetry: 82 | Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
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