#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—
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
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
A merchant is probing for us with his chintz curtain effect. *
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
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...
Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as