Field Notes in Haiku
I hear a giant
lives in a stardew valley
I follow the signs:
a knot of sparrows
outlines the shape of a nose—
cold autumn rainfall
the field of yarrow
turned
“Bit ‘im in the jugular,” the truck driver tells me about the bear ten feet away, describing the day the bear went crazy.
She’s still searching for hers but isn’t jealous. She’s happy I finally found my med. I take it in the morning with my cereal, and she knows to leave the milk out. I can put down a whole box at once
I was a loser and I was a fifth grader and I was hoping, never prayin’, to watch somebody open a can of whoop ass on The Stevens Twins. Somebody needed to sell more ten pound bags of sweet vidalia
The morning of our second date I drew a card – now I can’t remember which one...
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[meimei’s a meatness sis slug of blood boat the body tiger the teeth selfie tongue selfie chintilt selfie lilt her lily pucker her puss pin her skin back tap her mouth flap saps herself a shelf
It's work that I want to do, and then sometimes it's just fun, and then sometimes it's a pain in the ass.
I live my life by white lies.
And poetry is white lies.
Second language is white lies too.
As well as the first.
But language is the only way
to hide love.
White, black, transparent,
or
I think the dominator model will always exist in each person, just like each person has partnership qualities. After learning more about history, it does seem to me now that humans are in a process, however inconsistent and drawn-out, of recovering from extreme sexism—which reached absurd levels when people started promoting Yahweh ~3500 years ago, culminating maybe with Christianity around the first century—over millennia.
Naoko knew all too well how difficult it was to imbibe the air of a foreign culture. She had matriculated for a year at the University of Santa Barbara to study saxophone and marked each day as a progression from one shameful moment to the next.
It’s that night in the summer when your open windows mean nothing, when your bed is just stuffed heat
My daughter stood on tiptoe by the metal grocery cart and told me we needed two more bags of Colby Jack.
StreetRepeat is an online project curated by photographer Julie Hrudova that aims to recognize similarities and repetition within the genre of street photography. Hrudova arranges each entry on the
He had a disciplined approach to all things that surely came from the military. For breakfast it was always two hard boiled eggs – you imagined he swallowed them whole – but on the road, he allowed one indulgence: a short stack of pancakes.
It’s someone’s job to bury the dead.
