#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse Poem, Prose
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
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…
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
The doll told me to exist. It said, “Hypnotize yourself.” It said time would be transfixed.
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
“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—