#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
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.
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
Complex systems can arise from simple rules. It’s not that we want to survive, it’s that we’ve been drugged
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have
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
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
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...
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest