#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
A merchant is probing for us with his chintz curtain effect. *
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…
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
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.
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!
Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have
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
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!