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Solitudeexpand_moreJudging beauty, which is keenest, Eye or heart or mind or penis?
You can always tell the military folk by their even stance, their steady gaze.
Will you bless us, who are so in need of blessing? The world tires.
I’ve sinned. Cannot be saved. He was a child. Surely he went to heaven.
Gurov reflected, “it wouldn’t be a bad idea to make her acquaintance.”
Thus is the way of leaves the secret ones that no one sees, not even me
The house of our relationship is a fort. Blanket fort. Tree fort.
We entertain them. We kiss and spit and strike. We’re always changing.
I tell her I’m a woman now, that my boobs just popped in.
Write simple sentences. Report. Don’t moralize. No pretensions.
Miss Moses smiled, I could take you, buster. Don’t try anything with me.
The face of love is a poem I am writing in an air-conditioned room.
The stupider the president the more power you arrange for him.
Derek was holding a gun. The barrel was pointed at his own temple.
I bring out the emergency in people and I don’t know why.
I know quite well that I’m still a beginner and have a long way to go.
The noiseless trees, the insentient breezes that are not there.
She must know she was a mistake, what they call now a surprise.
The moment in your drunk when you become rich! A connoisseur.
If you want to know what to write, ask yourself what obsesses you.
We were in a play about affection. We were in a play about sex.
“Now, just what brought you down all this way?” they wanted to know.
Outside of Ikea’s window the nighttime wind tilts like a folk song.
I hold out hands, empty and poor like a beggar by the temple door.
Little footage, this plot, where it thrived at first, then ghosted away.
Never mind the gossip of the world. Don’t have it, yet have it!
The boys searched for their father, lost somewhere in the Olympic Range.
This is the woman who had shrunk so small, nobody could find her.
She asked, “What’s the weirdest thing you can do with your body?”
How do our lives disappear even while we’re in the midst of them?
