#FreeVerse
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
The idea that they were reenacting something which had been staged in the first place bothered her. If she wanted to go on, she’d need to ignore this limp chronology. She assumed he was...
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have
The doll told me to exist. It said, “Hypnotize yourself.” It said time would be transfixed.
“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.
It’s as if we’ve just been turned… in order to learn that the beetle we’ve caught and are now devouring is our elder brother
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.