#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
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…
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—
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
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
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
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. *
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way