#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse
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…
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
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...
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.
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
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
The doll told me to exist. It said, “Hypnotize yourself.” It said time would be transfixed.
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way