He slams the cash on the counter. “I need a bouquet with a hidden meaning.” He’s not the first to ask. “What meaning, sir?” “Murder.” “Murder again!?” the shopkeeper exclaimed. She puttered around the room and talked: “Well, my heavens, sometimes I wish I didn’t keep promises, like when I promised to keep this shop open after my grandmother died. She passed the magic along to me, though. Don’t worry,...
It’s not right that you’ve done this to me, that you’ve strung me along for years, that you will continue to do this as long as I let you. Maybe I’m the dim-witted one here, for staying when maybe I should go, for settling for less than I want because I’m afraid I won’t find more. Yellow like a coward and the dandelions that fly away in the slightest breeze,...
I am Atlas with the world on my back.I am the poor soul with the albatross on my neck.I am pushing this rock up and up and upthis hill like Sisyphus with noteven a hope let alone a promiseof relief. There’s only so much Ican hurt in my heart beforeI decide to set down the weightof the things holding me back,and things you’re pilingon top of me to carry. One...
We’re not out of the woods yetbut I feel like we’re getting closerto the edge of reality, to the placewhere we can be together withoutany one else’s bad juju. And if we can’t just beleft alone, on our own, maybe we’ll steal a pickup truckand maps from a gas station(if they even still have maps)and I’d get in and look at you and I would say:Go west, babe. Go west. Today’s poetry...
“We need to talk.” “What is it?” “It’s the alien you’re hiding in the attic.” “You want it gone?” “No, I just think if you’re going to hide an alien it shouldn’t be in the attic. We have a basement, that’s more dungeon-y.” “But I want her to feel welcome.” “Oh, it’s a her now, is it?” “It’s always been.” “What are you doing with her up there?” “Experiments…” “Are...
