There’s a joke that ends with — huh?
It’s the bomb saying here is your father.
Now here is your father inside
your lungs. Look how lighter
the earth is — afterward.
To even write father
is to carve a portion of the day
out of a bomb-bright page.
There’s enough light to drown in
but never enough to enter the bones
& stay. Don’t stay here, he said, my boy
broken by the name...
On the lee slope of the small coastal mountain
which conceals the sun the first hour after its rising,
in the dry, steep ravines, the live
mist of the heat is seething like dust
left over from an earlier world.
A crow with a swimmer's shoulders works
the air. And a little bird flies up into a
tree and closes its wings, like a blossom
folded up into a bud again.
In the distance is a very o...
**Always that spectral fragment. Filament of line cast back there.**
_Where open-mouthed fish rise to gulp down shiny lures._
Â
**_I sang once in an auditorium to almost empty rows._**
_I looked for my people in the seats, under the seats, behind_
**the seats, but they weren’t there. I called the three people**
_who were there to come up and introduce themselves._
They were young aspirants. A
Th...
In the dim light of their cramped studio apartment, Mia tossed a crumpled paper at the wall, missing the trash bin by inches. Alex, sprawled across the worn-out sofa, barely glanced up from their phone.
"I don't think about that," Mia mumbled, more to herself than to Alex, as she contemplated the looming deadline of her art project.
"You don't think about anything," Alex retorted without missing...
At first there's no lake in the city, at first there are only
elevators, at first there are only constricting office desks;
there are small apartments and hamburger joints and
unpaid telephone bills. Then a few nightclubs appear and
eventually the lake disinters. At times there's a highway
and a car and friends in a snowstorm heading nowhere but
back to the city and Sarah Vaughan is singing ...
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon the Rocks,
Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow Rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing Madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of Roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroide...
Once upon a time in the quirky town of Whimsyville, there lived a young inventor named Oliver Widget. Oliver was known for his peculiar gadgets and gizmos that often left the townsfolk scratching their heads in bewilderment. One sunny afternoon, Oliver stumbled upon a mysterious antique pocket watch at the local flea market. Little did he know, this wasn't an ordinary timepiece.
As soon as Oliver...
