I have one problem, I don’t hate people. They disgust me and I want to get away from them. I do not have hatred. I have an escape mechanism.

Thus we come to the problem of determining what the poem is ‘about.’ Charles Altieri notes that ‘[a]n expression of the self can be one that is intended, the self’s act, or one that is...

when we were kidslaying around the lawnon ourbellieswe often talkedabouthowwe’d like todieandwe allagreed on thesamething;we’d alllike to diefucking(althoughnone of ushaddone anyfucking)and nowthatwe are hardlykidsany longerwe think moreabouthownot todieandalthoughwe’rereadymost ofuswouldprefer todo italoneunder thesheetsnowthatmost ofushave fuckedour livesaway.

the best part waspulling down theshadesstuffing the doorbellwith ragsputting the phonein therefrigeratorand going to bedfor 3 or 4days. and the next bestpartwasnobody evermissedme.

crawled like a blind slug into the web

when you’re younga pair offemalehigh-heeled shoesjust sittingalonein the closetcan fire yourbones;when you’re oldit’s justa pair of shoeswithoutanybodyin themandjust aswell.

as long as there arehuman beings aboutthere is never going to beany peacefor any individualupon this earth (oranywhere elsethey mightescape to).all you can dois maybe grabten lucky minuteshereor maybe an hourthere.somethingis working toward youright now,...

La mayoría de la muerte de la gente es una farsa, no queda en ellos nada que pueda morir

The centuries are sprinkled with rare magicwith divine creatureswho help us get past the common and extraordinary ills that beset us

it does seemthe more we drinkthe better the wordsgo.

I found the best thingI could dowas just to type awayat my own workand let the dyingdieas they always have.