#FreeVerse
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
It’s as if we’ve just been turned… in order to learn that the beetle we’ve caught and are now devouring is our elder brother
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”
A merchant is probing for us with his chintz curtain effect. *
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
The idea that they were reenacting something which had been staged in the first place bothered her. If she wanted to go on, she’d need to ignore this limp chronology. She assumed he was...
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.