#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way
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!
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
Complex systems can arise from simple rules. It’s not that we want to survive, it’s that we’ve been drugged
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—
Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have
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...