#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
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...
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.
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
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. *
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far