Word Problem #1
If 4/7 of a tank can be filled in 2 minutes, how many minutes
will it take to fill the whole tank?
We’re drunk. We’re a drive-by shooting. We’re free
verse and hiding behind everything we don’t know.
The moon is the thinnest slice of crescent I’ve ever
seen. Your hand is sweaty cold and your voice cracks
like static electricity. Tell me, again, how you recollect
our future. Tell me again how we have changed from
reds and blues into greys; into slits of light swallowed
whole by a ravenous night.
It took 3.5 minutes
I remember what we never did: catching the last rites
of summer like the Zapruder film, your fingers looped
‘round my belt. It was a clean getaway, we were home
free and unaware.
Word Problem #3
You have 20 ounces of a 20% of salt solution, how much salt should
be added to make it a 25% solution?
It’s easier to end things under hard light. Easier to spend your time
when you’ve got deep pockets. Wish I could just stay in bed with you
forever. Or at least until the last leaf falls to the ground. We’re spare
thin lines on a map. We are frozen electricity. We wait for our bodies
to disappear, for wind and rain, for thunder and lightning. And all that
comes and all that remains is the hollow sound of an owl that echoes
off an empty sky.
You should add 4/3 ounces of salt
Her legs are bare, her arms bare, her name her location her story. She knows
2+2 never equals 4. She opens a window to let out a moth. Paper butterflies
shudder, the sun is a deep fall, African orange. It cools the horizon. She closes
her eyes, wraps her arms around herself. She doesn’t need the answer to see
it’s so much better with his shadow on her skin; so much better than words.
Word Problem #7
A bus traveling at an average rate of 50 kilometers per hour made the trip
to town in 6 hours. If it had traveled at 45 kilometers per hour, how many
more minutes would it have taken to make the trip?
I am lost; morning feels dangerous in my mouth. If I believed
in the afterlife I would ask you to marry me. Ignoring the sun
is another exercise in a lesson un-learned. Today is a cold, cold
fall but I drive with the windows full down. We feel too much
like a short story. All Hemmingway-ed and spare, a grey blank
sky over a black sea. The leaves are gone, I can hear winter
hum against the asphalt as rain pelts my car. Write an ending
we can live with, make it expectant, wet with possibility.
The time taken would have been 40 minutes longer
I’m living in another man’s rain. The end, the finale, the finish
comes eventually in a crowded room. My arms around a black
haired dancer; Betty Paige bangs, milky-pale skin. We’re fall
-ing debris. We’re killing each other. Doesn’t look painful at all
doesn’t feel anything like chivalrous. Dogs bark. A cock crows;
it’s not even morning.
If 4/7 of a tank can be filled in 2 minutes, how many minutes
will it take to fill the whole tank?
We’re drunk. We’re a drive-by shooting. We’re free
verse and hiding behind everything we don’t know.
The moon is the thinnest slice of crescent I’ve ever
seen. Your hand is sweaty cold and your voice cracks
like static electricity. Tell me, again, how you recollect
our future. Tell me again how we have changed from
reds and blues into greys; into slits of light swallowed
whole by a ravenous night.
It took 3.5 minutes
I remember what we never did: catching the last rites
of summer like the Zapruder film, your fingers looped
‘round my belt. It was a clean getaway, we were home
free and unaware.
Word Problem #3
You have 20 ounces of a 20% of salt solution, how much salt should
be added to make it a 25% solution?
It’s easier to end things under hard light. Easier to spend your time
when you’ve got deep pockets. Wish I could just stay in bed with you
forever. Or at least until the last leaf falls to the ground. We’re spare
thin lines on a map. We are frozen electricity. We wait for our bodies
to disappear, for wind and rain, for thunder and lightning. And all that
comes and all that remains is the hollow sound of an owl that echoes
off an empty sky.
You should add 4/3 ounces of salt
Her legs are bare, her arms bare, her name her location her story. She knows
2+2 never equals 4. She opens a window to let out a moth. Paper butterflies
shudder, the sun is a deep fall, African orange. It cools the horizon. She closes
her eyes, wraps her arms around herself. She doesn’t need the answer to see
it’s so much better with his shadow on her skin; so much better than words.
Word Problem #7
A bus traveling at an average rate of 50 kilometers per hour made the trip
to town in 6 hours. If it had traveled at 45 kilometers per hour, how many
more minutes would it have taken to make the trip?
I am lost; morning feels dangerous in my mouth. If I believed
in the afterlife I would ask you to marry me. Ignoring the sun
is another exercise in a lesson un-learned. Today is a cold, cold
fall but I drive with the windows full down. We feel too much
like a short story. All Hemmingway-ed and spare, a grey blank
sky over a black sea. The leaves are gone, I can hear winter
hum against the asphalt as rain pelts my car. Write an ending
we can live with, make it expectant, wet with possibility.
The time taken would have been 40 minutes longer
I’m living in another man’s rain. The end, the finale, the finish
comes eventually in a crowded room. My arms around a black
haired dancer; Betty Paige bangs, milky-pale skin. We’re fall
-ing debris. We’re killing each other. Doesn’t look painful at all
doesn’t feel anything like chivalrous. Dogs bark. A cock crows;
it’s not even morning.
