#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse Poem, Prose
“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. *
Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
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!
Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
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
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—
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…
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.