#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse
Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
Complex systems can arise from simple rules. It’s not that we want to survive, it’s that we’ve been drugged
“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
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 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...
Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
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…
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.
