#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
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
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have
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…
“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.