#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
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
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
Complex systems can arise from simple rules. It’s not that we want to survive, it’s that we’ve been drugged
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—
The doll told me to exist. It said, “Hypnotize yourself.” It said time would be transfixed.
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,