I walk in the mud by the river. The mud is cold. The mud swallows one foot, then the other. It's hard to remove my foot, the mud won't let me.
Woke up alone today in my own bed
after a solid sleep for the first time
in over three weeks, feeling strange there,
almost rested, but not quite, how big
my bed was around me, how new
I used to think my father was a baseball card.
Preparation:
- In pint glass, pour Rumchata over ice.
- Top with Dr. Pepper or Root Beer, whichever he is feeling.
- Drink through a straw.
I carve horses out of watermelon. I swallow / fish eyes like gum drops. I pray under / neon chandeliers, string chrysanthemum / in my hair.
i think i was an onion in a former life / i think you chopped me / lord how high were we last night
I knocked your socks off and away they went into another neighborhood, city, state, country, world, and dimension.
Your content will resume after you answer a brief survey.
How many movies have you seen in theater so far this year?
0
1-5
6-10
11 or more
….
With whom
A lot of people had just given up. Other people had made survival plans. Schmitty and his folks were holing up in their basement with shotguns and rations. He asked if I wanted to join them as he was allowed to bring one friend.
"This isn't like going to Hershey Park, Schmitty," I told him, "I'm staying with my family."
The baby is adorable, and I wish she really was mine, I was really hers, and this was a picture my wife took, my beautiful blue-eyed wife and my beautiful blue-eyed baby.
Remember when every stray dog was a love story and the snow that night cleared the crust that had gummed my eyes shut? No, me neither, but fuck it. Let’s get lit one last time.
I think everyone has heard this a lot but it’s still true — read with curiosity and hunger — reading is as important as writing, more important, probably, when you’re first starting to write.
Growing up I never saw road kill. / A government worker was paid / to take the bodies away / and nobody’s day was ruined by death.
On a Tuesday morning in May, everyone in Spokane, Washington woke to the smell of pie. It was blueberry – sugary with a hint of vanilla.
I wish I had that glorified high school / experience— where some boys / are chugging expired strawberry liqueur / and everyone, I mean everyone, / is sprawling on the grasscarpet
I don’t have any goals except to make the reader think and feel. What they think and feel is up to them.
On the way home from picking up my brother at the airport, I stopped for a hitchhiker. I’d never picked up a hitchhiker before. I think I did it because my brother was with me, Julian. It was the kind of thing Julian would do.
When I exhaust all other forms of exploration, / this landscape will deny me at the border; / & I will turn my gaze toward a darkening / sky filled with stars I no longer recognize.
We’ll have more in common than you’d think—after all, we’re both main sequence stars, I’m just a few million years ahead of you.
In 2007, I was catfished by a homely woman from Arkansas masquerading as a 5’10” blonde bombshell named “Jenn.” Before you judge me, remember that this was ten years ago.
Sometimes I say novels ruined me in the way they ruin all young bookish girls, slowly and tenderly rotting out the light and making room for the sweet dark.
And tbh, I seriously doubt Jesus wants me to die a virgin.
You’re always told to do the right thing and stand-up to evil, but can a, old dying woman who lies about being offered pie constitute as evil? I thought yes.
