She hadn't met a man Who could easily Lift her off her feet, Make her float in mid-air Above the trees,

Nothing wakens faster than a drowsy dog sussing, through an open window, the stabbing screams of an animal,

The closer I peered at the photo, the more the images retreated. A glimpse into the past, like a black-and-white retro montage.

I used to walk home from school before they had to build the bigger school because life then was brimming with children and everything was a Cat Stevens song

The rain won't stop seems to have gone on all my life

“What is a bishti?” I wondered, eyelids heavy, drifting on the waves of an incomprehensible battle as my mom perched on the side of my bed reading “Gunga Din” from a worn copy of Kipling.

Greyness of monochrome realism in my world reigned, both inside and outside. A pale-cheeked man grabbed several frozen-white plastic bags of over-masticated-bubblegum-pink chicken from the freezer behind the counter.

The crab approaches the drenched body of the albatross warily, as if familiar with this species, as if suspicious of death.

Meet Gary, a middle aged, working class man who’s down on his luck. He’s been fired from several jobs recently

Grab the urn with her ashes that’s been sitting on your mantel for nine long days. Pour out half a cup. Mix with the broth for her Whatever Ails You soup...

I was at the West Fourth Street platform when the scent reached me before her, even before the D train hummed through the tunnels

i get off the bus. & a cherry popsicle is flung at me. it explodes into red pieces all over my pink ita backpack

I thought they would have gone away by now. Still, they stood on the corner, pouring in the street, screaming, chanting, waiving flags and signs.

My mistress’ eyes on black morn darker be than the sun amid versed tragedy. And beneath her eyes are deeply entrenched sad memories with tears sordidly drenched

To whom it may concern (never write who) I’m submitting the attached to apply -- Does not every word read somehow imply “Thank you for your consideration” too? --

When you told me that I was beautiful, I had no choice but to shrug those words off, tip my shoulder like I was pouring full a drink: the toast to which my faults we’d quaff.

As a result of his car accident, Gwen’s twenty-eight-year-old son, Luke, lost the ability to speak as well as all mobility aside from very limited functioning of his fingertips.

Saturday - white wine to a whiter shade of pale and dark petit fours, I lift English landscapes from sappy memories

Were I to be honest right now I’d face the desire to, my feelings, replace, At least with my words to say all is fine While my anxiety runs up a cline

Just when the evening turns to night – There is a word the wise ones say It speaks itself when all the birds Have sung away the last of day