#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—
“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
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…
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
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...
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”
Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.
