#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women
Complex systems can arise from simple rules. It’s not that we want to survive, it’s that we’ve been drugged
Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have
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. *
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
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…
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
It’s as if we’ve just been turned… in order to learn that the beetle we’ve caught
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...
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!