poetry: results 529–552 of 735

I had three husbands, two of them ghosts.

piggy has no basis for thinking it's his dog. #1: his dog died last summer; #2: it died of (once there was an indian princess) heartworms; #3…

Don't be shaking people's hands with that fragrance.

You're not missing much, just a bear dressed like a bunny.

What's my best friend's name again?

It's all skin and no apple.

The bed shuffled itself straight out the door,

little jerky movements on squeaky casters,

until one leg planted itself in the flowerbed.

…and you were told ever since you could walk

never to look directly at the sun

but you do

you stand on the rocks and do…

23:09:24 One forest says to another forest:

23:09:25 I wanna get some bees going back here.

23:09:26 What kind of beans?

E. Unim didn't last long at the Met.

The chief folly being her melange piece, The Staccatoed Invertebrate—

A plastic locomotive duct-taped to a wheel chair.

He gets out, leaving the gun,

opens the back door. He slides the double-

bladed axe off the seat. This, he thinks, is

what happens when you put off business.

Her story involves some cow trading,

over hard drinks and

horded chocolates. It's about a harpsichord.

And a record collection…

We met in the apartment of accident. You carried weapons: a pen, plastic bags, a grocery receipt; necessary means of transience, unnecessary hubris. My tongue was barbed.

"Would you still love me if I were frozen?" my brother asks from beneath his covers.

"I would still love you even if you were an electric dog," I murmur from across the room; the room I hate to describe.

The great laws take and effuse without argument,

I am of the same style, for I am their friend,

I love them quits and quits… I do not halt and make salaams.

A strangeness is amiss. The soup is not puree

of stinging nettle. Where are all the wonderful

varmints? The sneezing turtles? The lace-thonged

fascists? This morning the road north was not paved…

The day my brother brought me to the pond

of one thousand screaming white swans

it was winter in Akita.

Being here. It's ok, to be here. The

grit that life has in it. It's mechanical

but I'm used to it. I feel the buzz inside

you, your body and laying beside it.

Great song, as in not alone, think about

what's possible, not imaginary but picturing

the uncountable kicks of you…

The choreography is deliberate so we know where

to put our feet. What then, these intersections?

Your body is so literal: even unexpected, low…

A duet built around the word help. As I am

a man, I cannot talk without my body, my

body keeps leaning into you.

God is everywhere, cake is not,

which is why I like it, God says

and lifts his fork from the plate…

An accessory before

curtain datum

eats forbidden grapes

(helps in jumping).

This is where we enter. Carmen and I. Mom and I. Two rotten, two diseased, two dying. I say, "Mom, once we knew what it felt like to be idle." She's throwing frozen fish sticks in the oven for dinner. I'm watching her watching television.

This pack of pot-bellied songbirds squats

at gutter's edge all night, passing butts

of Lucky Strikes and belting the blues.

My window's stuck up and I'm laid low.

All fist and forearm,

apron-stained, I am nothing to you—

a scrap. A skin. Offal of lust.

I am giblets and gristle—

For two full days the sirens

realized their high notes

in the quivering saucers

stacked inside cupboards…