Little Pick Eye Little Pick Eye
Little Pick Eye turned William over like the boots his mama left in the hall. Stupid pickle gulls pulled the hair out of his head. Call him kid flower and I guess over time stiffened and plucked is how you might describe him. The main thing to remember is that it's not your fault. You didn't introduce him to the cigar. You didn't give him a hottie tottie when he got froze outa school and you aint gonna straighten him out with a crowbar now. Dogs dancing with their big old teeth, bars a shakin, neighbors scramin neighbors. You pay good money to live somewhere and then wammo, God makes it snow all over your car. Odds are bad you called for advice but advice is what you're gonna get: Work to be the bastard Live to be the bastard And then be the bastard That, or they'll take your money right out of the bank in front of your eyes and tell ya about it. Now Git. Now Git! Now Git! You didn't make it, we just gave it to you for something you did.
Jan 12, 2011 / Books & the Arts / Joshua Beckman
Man How to Listen Man How to Listen
the horizon has an edge. It is a place & we live here, under the grass, over the earth. No pomegranate tree grows under there, there where only demons bring fruit.
Dec 16, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Sarah Riggs
‘History is the soft medium…’ ‘History is the soft medium…’
Dec 2, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Aaron Kunin
[3 fragments of Mimnermos] [3 fragments of Mimnermos]
Translated from the Greek by Anne Carson
Nov 23, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Anne Carson
Epitaph for Ben Sonnenberg Epitaph for Ben Sonnenberg
But still! being but a tree one cannot ask them pines touched by his sleeve's passing where to go I know not when he was buried glancing over the land going up that road ("to wait for a faraway person" sounding like the word for "pines") under the pines when spring came along the road my beloved prince he will have been perfect while the shining days are piled up how strangely awful to utter it on the death and burial of one prince this is a song. This is a song on the death and burial of one prince to utter it how strangely awful while the shining days are piled up he will have been perfect my beloved prince when spring came along the road under the pines (the word for "pines" sounding like the word "to wait for a faraway person") going up that road, glancing over the land when he was buried I know not where to go pines touched by his sleeve's passing one cannot ask them being but a tree, but still!
Nov 23, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Anne Carson
The Oldest Romantic The Oldest Romantic
Why didn’t you warn me of the arm’s smoothness in its dormitory, where it enters the roundness of the shoulder, my eyes locked open. What made you think I’d forget the lure of the long gaze when you look back at me with that shadow under your arm when the sun is low… Why didn’t you believe it exists, the breathing in the lung under the arm, you alone with the vacant pain in one eye, the triangle of dark under you?
Nov 10, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Elisa SampedrÃn
Emily Dickinson Came to Earth and Then She Left Emily Dickinson Came to Earth and Then She Left
Nov 3, 2010 / Books & the Arts / C.A. Conrad
Ibex Have Evolved for Life at the Top Ibex Have Evolved for Life at the Top
When we say specimen we mean you. By you we mean whatever collection of night sweats and shopping lists accumulates in the bed by dawn. When we say dark we mean pitch, moonless, starless, don't even open your eyes. When we say he has your eyes we mean we see nothing of you there. If you want someone to come for you, you'll have to cry harder than that. If you want to be prepared, practice: blizzard, fire, famine. Your shoes or your coat? Your cat or your dog? Sister, daughter, mother, wife?
Oct 27, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Lisa Olstein