#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
So these are the hills of home. H… nearly subliminal. To see them is… double, hear bad puns delivered wi… An untoward familiarity. Rising from my sleep, the road is…
Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way
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
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
“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
The doll told me to exist. It said, “Hypnotize yourself.” It said time would be transfixed.
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—