The Amelia Earhart Pancake
I have been unable to find a poem for this title. I've spent years looking for one and now I'm giving up. November 3, 1970
4 miesiące temu
I have been unable to find a poem for this title. I've spent years looking for one and now I'm giving up. November 3, 1970
4 miesiące temu
They said that my telephone would be fixed by 6. They guaranteed it.
4 miesiące temu
I can tell by your eyes that I have asked the wrong question. They look troubled and away. We'll change the subject.
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You have your friends. I have mine.
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Fuck me like fried potatoes on the most beautifully hungry morning of my God-damn life.
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When he died he left his wife three gas stations and a warehouse. He left his mistress two supermarkets.
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The sexual accident that turned out to be your wife, the mother of your children and the end of your life, is home cooking dinner for all your friends.
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At the guess of a simple hello it can all begin toward crying yourself to sleep, wondering where the fuck she is.
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We were the eleven o'clock news because while the rest of the world was going to hell we made love.
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As mechanical as a flight of stairs, as solemn as a flight of stairs, they have found each other after years of looking.
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Here is something beautiful (etc. I have so little left that you would want. Its color begins in your hand. Its shape is your touch.
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Umbrallaing herself like a poorly-designed angel she falls in love again: destined to a broken heart which is the way it always is for her. I'm glad she's not falling in love with me.
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I'll affect you slowly as if you were having a picnic in a dream. There will be no ants. It won't rain.
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You were the prettiest girl in your high school graduating class in 1927. Now you have short blue hair and nobody loves you, not even your own children. They don't like to have you around because you make them nervous.
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The thought of her hands touching his hair makes me want to vomit.
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Signalling, we touch, lying beside each other like waves. I roll over into her and look down through candlelight to say, "Hey, I'm balling you."
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I had severe insomnia last night with the past, the present and the future detailing themselves like: Oh, the shit we run through our minds! Then I remembered that it was Dr. William Carlos Williams' birthday and that made me feel better until almost dawn.…
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"Good work," he said, and went out the door. What work? We never saw him before. There was no door.
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He stands alone in a pasture but nobody can see him. He has been made invisible by his own wounds. I know how he feels.
4 miesiące temu