#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
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 jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.
A merchant is probing for us with his chintz curtain effect. *
Complex systems can arise from simple rules. It’s not that we want to survive, it’s that we’ve been drugged
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way
The doll told me to exist. It said, “Hypnotize yourself.” It said time would be transfixed.
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.