#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
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 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...
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
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…
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
Complex systems can arise from simple rules. It’s not that we want to survive, it’s that we’ve been drugged
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as