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Snapshot_20130219_8
lizwells
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I'm worried I'll run into you tonight. You're out there, on my side of this sparkling city trying to increase the chances of my impending relapse when I see you approaching in a manner that isn't meek, isn't wavering, but bold and squared-off with long strides. The way you're(more)
After pulling from the parking lot and out into traffic, her mouth tasted like she'd been sucking on a silver coin. A sharp, dirty sensation came over her as she realized she'd said too much. The conversation went well, but something felt unattended to, like the back door left(more)
oh!
"Oh!" I definitely heard it this time. My ears perked up like the dog's when the mailman comes by. It wasn't just the heating vent or something outside.

"Oh, fuck!" My neighbors like to have sex in the daytime. Three o'clock or so. It usually coincides with my(more)
"It isn't words," they say, "but actions that matter." Your actions, those I understand. The way you let me know you by choosing a puddle rather than the dry curb. How you carry your dog, nearly as big as you, when his joints hurt. The quickness in which you(more)
Instead of burning this candle at both ends, you've broken it in half so the two flames will never meet. Maintaining compartments seems to be the only way to endure every facet of your love but what you say is separate, I know, is tethered by the same waxy(more)
There are long-winded and inky love letters stashed between the mattress and box-spring. It seemed natural to wedge them there as I received them. A few arrived by mail. Others slipped under the door. I read each once, then absorbed the blank spaces and smudges while I slept, trying(more)
I see no exit strategy here. The walls are bare,
windows hermetically sealed. Hardwoods
gleaming with wax make escape a fantasy.
Furniture evaporates when memories
of you there, me tied to the chair with my own belt
come filtering in with the morning light. (more)
The vintage 1920s building I live in has an old elevator shaft that I can access through a rather large window above the toilet in the bathroom. The chasm is narrow and eerily painted a dirty, dried blood color. I call it the dungeon because there's a drain at(more)
I've been sleeping tight for a year because after shedding my clothes, I slip between two generic Tylenol PM's. It's reassuring to know that sleep will come on time, just the way I've planned, night after night. The side-effects include drowsy yet violent twitching that only jacking-off can cure,(more)
Last night I was happy because I had a good piece of hair wound around two fingers like a spool of the best lamb's wool, only softer. I couldn't see who it belonged to, blonde or black, but guessed it was a combination. Asleep on the floor means so(more)
I'm a lake.
This thought is my only consolation, late
at night when the struggle to sleep
invokes the panic that there's a leak
somewhere, vulnerabilities soaking
into unknown dry land. I'm not a river (more)
"Will work for food," now there's a classic, the meaning gone numb in the minds of the passersby. The competition is so fierce in Portland, the street kids and genuine homeless turn to more charming tag lines in order to make a connection. "Will work for beer" riffs the(more)
Strange, I'm in New York today. A few blocks away
from where concentrated energies are focused.
I'll never write about that. Instead, I'm seeing you.
A coincidence. It hasn't been nine months
but it has been seven. (more)
Today, I left Bread & Ink too soon after I arrived because I had apparently shown up at the wrong hour to quietly work on revisions. It must have been prime mommy-and-me time because as soon as I got cozy in my booth and ordered my first black coffee,(more)
I stopped writing to Addison several years ago but I reconsider my silence whenever I come across one of those tall, rickety lazy-susans stocked with 25 cent post cards that usually crowd the entrance to souvenir shops or outside of bodegas, the kind of cards we used to mail(more)