#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse Poem, Prose
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
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
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,
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
Complex systems can arise from simple rules. It’s not that we want to survive, it’s that we’ve been drugged
Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
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.
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
A merchant is probing for us with his chintz curtain effect. *
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever