His idea of America lay in the world of myth. The kid was young, uneducated, sleeping on the streets.
Did you know she crossed Times Square in the air? Did you know she can hang from the sky by her teeth?
Sometimes she claims to have read one of my books. How can she imagine anyone believing this?
Why have I bought this cranberry muffin? It sits on a glass plate by the window seat of the Destination Baking Company—a small muffin, the top crunchy with sugar, the berries bleeding into the yellow bread. My action seems ordinary, and yet I am not hungry. The muffin hollows out around the cranberries like a […]
At the time they wouldn’t have known or remembered the Ukrainian famine from Stalinist times that killed millions or Khruschev’s expensive failure at growing corn. Long live Communism!
I don’t leap out rushing into the heat. It’s easier after all to stay put, sitting in the car praying for it to begin moving again. Come on, hold on, breathe.
Grandma Sylvia, complainer or not, seemed to me as worthy of media attention as any TV star, socialite or business mogul in a celebrity-obsessed culture.
In a stall in the men’s changing room at the Central London YMCA my challenge has become clear.
Society and the people seem to want to be terminally
‘busy.’ Everyone wants a phone in the car. No one wants
any free-time. The assumption here is that free-time is wasted time,
time better spent getting stuff and getting ahead.
At the Mexican fast-food stand one block from home, I was nine and in line three times a week for a bean and cheese burrito. It was 1975, the year we moved away from my father.
If her defence fails, then, my dear friend, like other persons who are enamoured of something, but put a restraint upon themselves when they think their desires opposed to their interests, so too must we after the manner of lovers give her up, though not without a struggle[. . . .] and he who listens […]
Some weeks ago, a friend asked us to come up with a creative way to participate in an anti-Bush rally being held in downtown Missoula. The event, billed simply as “Dump Bush Missoula,” was to be a kind of artsy affair…
I went into a fever of hunger for a week, no satisfying it. I didn’t
sleep, I didn’t eat, I wouldn’t talk. I paced the confines
of our cottage with my red pencil, mumbling about marrow and kidneys.
I’m going to talk about not poetry of the city, but poetry as a city.
Every Unedited Thing in the Identity Theory Non-Fiction Box Regarding Facial Hair: June 2-Aug 24 (in reverse order)
Did you shave your facial hair? And if so, were you walking downtown today in a blue shirt, listening to your iPod? I thought I saw you near the Thompson Center.