Entries

Wetlands

jonnyrottenwhite@gmail.com — Sun, 05 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0100

You used to speak to me in violins,

letting your tongue lick strings

to hear the saliva whine in a

fragile treble.

I loved the nights we spent in drunken depression.

pkimberlyv@gmail.com — Sat, 04 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0100

&nbs [...]

Healing

sharbour@bresnan.net — Sat, 04 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0100

When fatigue and heartbreak finally run their course

what is it but grace that unfurls with

the poetry of white linen-

some miraculous calm in the quiet of reprieve-

some haven between dirty grey despair

and brilliant-hued paroxysms of ecstasy

I’ll dance in the gentle unfolding of a pale yellow day

“So that’s it?”

He palmed it, hefting it up and down. About three pounds, slate black, rectangular with curved edges. On the side, an arrow pointed upwards to a small button.

&l [...]

Choke on This (ADULT LANGUAGE)

speak_4_the_trees@yahoo.com — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0100

My dentist looks eerily like Nick Nolte from the movie Mother Night. A Nazi. The man wields sharp metal objects inside people's mouths and has the audacity to look like a Nazi. I do not judge him by this-well, maybe a little, I mean, who can't if you've seen Marathon Man-but he's one of those dentists who habitually asks the patient questions whilst he works on them. Me. While he works on me. While he is [...]

I Know Where You Live and Have Access to Your Pets (ADULT THEME/LANGUAGE)

speak_4_the_trees@yahoo.com — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0100

"What?"

"Oh...nothing, nothing."

"Please, don't bullshit me. That was definitely something."

"I'm fairly sure it wasn't, my goat-loving friend."

& [...]

Regrets

angeliqueglass@aol.com — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0100

I am, she said, not an artist

nor a writer,

I am nothing but ink and crayon aching

in absurd reaches ....for validation.

And though I tried to embrace her

A paradox she remained...

too thoughtful and then thoughtless

witty and clever, reckless and annoying.

I need someone I can trust, he said,

Someone less complicated...I thought...

He can write volumes of dialogue in his novels

and yet never tell me how he feels.< [...]

Conference Services

skolodezh@gmail.com — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0100

The mouse is like a fly on my screen and I'm waiting for it to go away and be free of the web
but if it were a real mouse on the screen
with a tail
of course
that would be much more interesting
or even
if it were a real fly
giving life to the grey box blank stare
that
would be much more interesting
at least it would give my mind
a moment
of respite from the gun shell hammering of the air conditioner
pound pound droning

sinister manipulators with delicate fingers

dbrummert@gmail.com — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0100

first there was laughter
fast summers learning to survive
deadly attacks by fake monsters
fight quick
one very good blow
under the chin
should do it
Slow winters chasing the morning snow frantic
like a herd of fleas
delirious with the need
to trudge barefoot
through shallow spring mud
Sweet birthday cakes with
fake green and blue balloons
dreaming up honest plans
all night
to [...]

to live

sharbour@bresnan.net — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 18:00:00 +0100

You bend, in your beauty,

like the willow, or the birch

the white and grey and length of your limbs

that ever-changing wink of color from the tip of your finger drips, and-

stretching towards that

last bit of summer sky- clear blue and

9 to 5 Icarus

stevenmgrant@gmail.com — Sun, 29 Aug 2010 18:00:00 +0100

9 to 5 Icarus

These days King Minos
wears a suit and tie
and drives a new Bentley,
but he still has to deal
with the same bull,
rotten kids, bad wife;
fucking cow!

This is Manhattan,
not Knossos, so
there's no labyrinth here,
just subways tunnels
and skyscrapers,
but it can still be hard
to find a way out.

The wings of our fathers
come with warning labels
and we still ignore them
when [...]

tiptoe around the corner

sharbour@bresnan.net — Sat, 28 Aug 2010 18:00:00 +0100

Daddy says predator- I say love-

feasts on something- doesn't it?

You write what you know you write-

what you know and you

write what you know and

the circular direction of writing points

back towards the center

a rape and a dead child and can I tell you

by the way what it feels like to simply walk away from

this brick-laden thing called

life... I tiptoe to the edge of my own fingertips

she wrote, cunn [...]

Lily's Dilly - Dally

brien@99main.com — Sat, 28 Aug 2010 18:00:00 +0100

Synopsis.

This is a sad story of money, greed, time and procrastination in life. A 45 year old woman puts off by ten years moving from NYC, and the life she loathes, to the country in CT only to decide too late to honor a promise to her grandmother that proves to have dire consequences. The theme is no matter how much time we think we have, another reality can be lurking just around the corner in our lives.

[...]

the objective obituary

allanshapiro@hotmail.com — Sat, 28 Aug 2010 18:00:00 +0100

I blame ckm for this one.

It’s the next email, however, that really drives the point home. But it’s important to remember the context. His Chinatown phase had already ended. A period of promiscuity had set in. Granted that promiscuity was confined to just one woman, but it was still promiscuity nonetheless. Had he not just traveled the long road to nowhere through Chinatown, he would never have en [...]

The Color Red

angeliqueglass@aol.com — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 18:00:00 +0100

I don't believe in painted red nails

she once said.

or rouge or matt lipstick.

It doesn't play well.

It's cheap in a way. She said.

And it hurts my image. Okay, red nail polish on my toes during winter

might work, and rouge as a contour down my neck might do --

But matt lipstick! Please!

Her lips glistened as she hesitated, biting the corner of her mouth...

All I really need is a little lip balm with honey ----

< [...]

tiptoe around the corner (revised)

sharbour@bresnan.net — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 18:00:00 +0100

Daddy says predator- I say love-
feasts on something- doesn’t it?
You write what you know you write-
what you know and you
write what you know and
the circular direction points
back towards center.

the rape and the dead child and

the way it feels to simply walk away from
this brick-laden thing called
life…&nbs [...]