#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
A merchant is probing for us with his chintz curtain effect. *
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
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...
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
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
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.
Complex systems can arise from simple rules. It’s not that we want to survive, it’s that we’ve been drugged
