In the city at the terminal Pvt Gigure of the Air Force is having trouble choosing but leans toward a Payday candy bar. In the city at the terminal a painter whom I once met has nothing to say to me. In the city at the terminal Morris Mintz has managed to get his name…
A burly country bumpkin, Bald as an autumn pumpkin, Sat – in his cups – at home. Some kind of fly, a-winging, Time and again kept stinging His unprotected dome. Each time the pest would land, The peasant smashed his hand Smartly against his head. Just as the bug would bite him, He tried in…
You swat a bug off a ham shank. Meats hang in the attic like a row of stairs to another floor. You are up here to get a chair so you can sit outside if you want. The pixy little butterfly pins your daughter makes, are in rows in a box. Three were sold already…
”i have the hunger” in 20 years all the tea will be dead communication will stand still and decent folk will fly back to the moon where they belong – we don’t care louder than they don’t care even the alphabet must die sooner or later, it’s got wings anyway and can make it…
1. Y. Norman Ludosky had never stirred beyond the confines of the City. He had attended private elementary schools, the university, finally graduate school. All predicted a brilliant future for a singular and original student. He immediately secured a post on the leading intellectual magazine and speedily advanced from book review department to role of…
I You have been dreaming for a long time of being me And it has made you so tired that sleep seems impossible so Suddenly you remain where you have been for a long time II During times in your life like this which were meant to be emblems For you to admire in the…
it doesn’t turn black from pink and you won’t be able to rest your eye while you think. You won’t think. The silence won’t be soothing as velvet to let you concentrate when the radio peters out. It won’t give you a float. And nothing like fresh cold water. It ain’t like going to sleep…
“What obsessed Hieronymus Bosch was not simply sadism but interpenetration and particularly cutting,” chittered the ferret as she sipped her espresso and picked at a napoleon
I The noon dazes us, a brilliant back-beater. II Like hands slapping the water, ducks settle. III Shakedown time: fall trees fork over to the winds. IV Cornfields craze the wild crows, raucous on the fence. V This, this, this: like a stick against fence pickets.
No products in the cart.