#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.
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...
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
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…
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
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—