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Total Poetry: 82 | Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
The steamy bathhouse air chased her from the shower, licking and curling at her damp, sweet heels. The refrigerator door seeped drops of condensation and the chamber expelled a cool gale into the moist kitchen. She dropped her robe, a heap, and the between-ess of her breasts and legs flooded the bedroom with her sharp, cosseted fragrance. With programmed hands he peeled bac ... Continue Reading

Posted: November 17th, 2005

To sit unaccompanied in the bus depot or cafť, avoid, at all times, looking up from a book or legal pad. Meet no oneís eyes, and do not smooth the wrinkle in your pants. Sip a drink neatly, and imagine you are posing for some Arts and Leisure pageó your exquisite wife en route. Mustnít look up, whatever comes, unless Christ himself traipses down the street. Mustnít look up, or ... Continue Reading

Posted: November 17th, 2005

There were tiny bones in the salad today. I crunched them mechanically into a mash with spinach and beets. They shattered between automatic teeth, ground into fine bone meal that peppered every swallow. From the first bite I knew they were there, but I continued, reflexive, fork to lips. I could feel the sharp points in the flesh of my cheek, the place where the ribs and shoulder gird ... Continue Reading

Posted: November 17th, 2005

We prayed over the dead body of the turkey, resting on a pyre of lettuce. Together, we assembled the funeral procession: first, the marshmallow-y candied yams, followed thereafter by the gleaming, studded stuffing and the spouted gravy boat dripping hearty brown tears, the mourning march for Tom Turkey. The harvest moon-wolf shone, winking outside the dining room window, licking his chops in antic ... Continue Reading

Posted: November 15th, 2005

A wide arch of geese appeared above the highway, a waving poppy seed ribbon across the barely-evening sky. While I was driving away, I drove square underneath it. The ribbon spanned from the right edge of my windshield to the corner of my left eye, framed, and for a moment, the flow of birds and air between was unbroken. For several days after, threads of the greater ge ... Continue Reading

Posted: October 17th, 2005

There were several rainy days at the outset of October. There were wet shoes, slickers and changes of socks long walks with upturned hoods damp faces and the moist, composted smell of trodden leaves. There were naps that pulled with heavy cords to slumber, and swallowed up the daylight hours, dark as those at night. They were weighty, cavernous slumbers, in those gray afternoons, ... Continue Reading

Posted: October 11th, 2005

This broken, plank-less bench under shady, speckled trees rarely sees a sitter. Bench school dropout. Candidate for bench euthanasia. Bastard bench. He is the altogether saddest bench, overlooked and underused among a troupe of healthy others. The others, they have sitters: cigarette-smokers, sunbathers, well-wishers, and kissers. Iíll redeem you, busted bench: you sculpt ... Continue Reading

Posted: September 26th, 2005

My robe is meant for a small person. When I see it on the bathroom hook I forget that it belongs to me, a person of my dimensions. It looked small on him, a mantle on the broader expanse from shoulder blade to blade, and white as baby teeth against the night bedroom. Sustainer of decency on the brief trip from bed to bath. When I don the robe, I think of him most often: frame ... Continue Reading

Posted: September 26th, 2005

Frosting on the sill was Decemberís chilly whisper. In this spill of falling snow, they kissed. He shyly kissed her. She wore Coiled scarf and woolen hat, knitted socks and mittens. Though her face was mostly masked, no matter: he was smitten. To the eyes of passersby, they were smudges on snowy lace. To her lips it was a briefest berry in that swirling wintry place. ... Continue Reading

Posted: September 13th, 2005

The exact pressure of his lips and the precision of his hips are measurements worth remembering. She records minute detail to satisfy the notion that the feebleness of memory will bow out to devotion: the slightest motion of his hand on shoulder-tops, embracing and each miniature sensation that his fingertips are placing with both palms inwardly facing. The loss of recollection i ... Continue Reading

Posted: August 24th, 2005

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