#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”
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
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way
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!
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…