the fog sat heavy
in the valley cauldron.
each intersecting limb
was the peace of a friday
morning, interrupted.
we were singing
all the songs we had heard
before as children, and we
thought of having coffee,
but we didn't.
what does it mean
to be caught under a tree
at the break of what would be
a taciturn day, but wasn't?
The explosion knocked her off her feet and sent a ringing through her ears. She felt the world going black.
When she came to, she got up and looked around. the bathroom was in shambles. the spotted mirrors were shattered all around her on the floor. one of the stall doors had been blown off. She rose to her feet, brushed herself off, and started through the halls, looking for her friends. She walked through the ruins of her school for nearly an hour, finding nothing but the dead. She heard footsteps and ran for the source. She ran smack...
Dear Diary,
I'm SO sick of everyone going on about how their lives are such a bowl of cherries! I am SO not going through rainbows and lollipops right now. i am about to face one of the toughest decisions of my young life. My life isn't a bowl of cherries and no one else even tries to care. it's just " ME ME ME" all the time. Like my best friend. All she talks about is herself. how she's going off to camp and ontario and stuff and how she got a new baby cousin and stuff. finally, i...
He and i intended to keep it secret. no one needed to know just then. we just wanted to enjoy ourselves. a few select friends knew, of course, but not one adult in our lives knew until... it happened. His mother was snooping around and found us out. she immediately struck us a deal we couldn't squirm out of. either i tell my parents by monday or she tells. it was like a ransom. "Leave 3000000 unmarked bills in a plain paper bag outside my door, or your precious little secret gets out." i couldn't bring myself to tell my...
What do you make of the man who sells his muse?
It's what she wants.
It's what she asks for.
It's the active creation of a ghost, the planning for something that remains in verse and shadow long after the departure of the flesh.
It's the creation of memory and emotion that will remain fresh for the consumer, but will soon become the thorn for the creator
It's the serving of beloved as buffet.
It's what we need.
And ask for.
What do we make of the girl who sells her desire.
It's how she succeeds.
It's how she fails....
George's house was a hubcap magnet. Hubcaps came weekly, flying through the air at his windows or car or yard like some sort of kamikaze attack. He didn't know why this was, it just was.
First he attempted to board his windows up. This left him with shards of broken wood and slightly bent hubcaps. Eventually he settled on iron shutters. He felt a bit like a drug lord huddling in his iron plated house. Only it was more like a drug lord who frequently wore red converse sneakers and chinos.
It wasn't as if he lived in a high...
Man do I ever love typing ampersands. Seriously. Whenever I type one, it's like the whole universe shits solid gold joy right on my lap. Life is all sunshine and rainbows and Barbie Doll bumholes whenever I type an ampersand. I'm actually feeling a bit melancholy right now, so I'm gonna type an ampersand.
&
HOLY SHIT AM I EVER HIGH ON LIFE RIGHT NOW!!!! SERIOUSLY, IT IS LIKE RONALD MCDONALD AND ORCA THE KILLER WHALE ARE BOTH TAKING ME ON A ROCKET TRIP TO PLUTO TO SEE SAMMY DAVIS JUNIOR STRANGLE MIMES WHILE WEARING LEONARD NIMOY'S SPOCK OUTFIT!!!!
Let...
The hillsides have been finger-painted
with Larch trees turning yellow
like smears from a child's hand
that Mother Nature will bleach away within the month
I stare, thinking there must be a pattern to it.
Birds eating seeds from cones and dropping them in flight?
Early colonizers after a fire?
Unwilling to believe in beauty without structure and reason
Dusk arrives with its gift of quiet
As if hosting it here in this small moment of time required recompense.
A perfect moment of stillness
before I turn to go inside and life's motions begin again
The sky blue sea swayed under the ultramarine sky. The sun is an amphibian, I thought. Then I wondered if any creatures lived in the sky and the water, never touching the land, and what would you call that?
A fisherman walked towards me on the boardwalk, handling a bagpipe. A boy followed with his fingers hooked into collapsed crab traps. A wet nylon rope dragged behind, leaving a wiry, drunken trail from where I never bothered to know.
The argument over the preferred pronunciation of "Pax Romana" bloomed into a bloody fistfight, not that it was terrifically violent so much as the pugilists were notorious bleeders. The patch of snow on which they sparred began to resemble the flag of Japan as arms unfurled, elbows snapped back, and fists clenched so tight, thumbs overlapped knuckles.
Inside, my kung pow shrimp cooled under the air vent.