six words
Through her tears she said goodbye.
The shovel pings against the coffin.
Dust covered the old wedding photos.
Hoarse from crying, she's resting now.
Mothers against science, unaware of risks.
One shot can help, why not?
One shot can’t hurt, why not?
One more drink before I go.
Vaccines answer the red question marks.
We could only save three children.
Piles of wood, unfastened from nails.
Sets of silverware hidden and tarnished.
Discounts and smiles greet the swindled.
The last push off the docks.
Behind her, the window sills ascended.
He kicked the chair out himself.
He’d written a note and everything.
What will his children do now?
He pulled it out, she gasped.
There were two bullets, two people.
Look away, you shouldn’t see this.
I’ll never stop seeing his face.
The neurotic ramblings of sad men.
Wool gathering and speculating about life.
Never firm enough to make decisions.
She interjects with uninformative life stories.
It felt so good without one.
The towel was cold and wet.
The stove had been left on.
The toaster malfunctioned, sparking the fire.
Underneath the bandage things were worse.
The smoke had left its grafitti.
In a field, on his knees.
Two in the head from behind.
When he’s sick he’s impossibly stubborn.
He didn’t want to share it.
When you can’t see the shore.
Falling eight floors should do it.
The sirens were two minutes late.
The subway car was completely empty.
They chose to blur the faces.
Sixty letters, marked “return to sender.”
The smell of the bodies traveled.
Sunken chests filled with coral reef.
A broken telescope, the ophthalmologists’ bill.
Young, reckless, the world wasn’t enough.
A skull filled with hot sand.
The shotgun blasted sign said “Welcome.”
The doctor's note made him weak.
How could he tell his mother?
The runner saw the legs first.
After seven hours, they gave up.
Crawling on his hands and feet.
The life insurance policy was wrong.
The lawyer’s pro-bono? Fuck U2.
Knock, knock. Who’s there? LandShark.
She was too short to ride.
The receipt said within thirty days.
The door had been ripped off.
Beneath the rubble, he was alive.
She shouldn’t have worn that outfit.
He pretended she wasn't saying no.
After dark, the neighborhood wasn’t friendly.
She burned all of their photos.
On the Internet, he wasn’t lonely.
They took turns with the girl.
He found the last Easter Egg.
The pastor smelled like pipe tobacco.
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