Silent resignation drips from each nostril.
Tongues exhale stale stench of cold coffee.
Actively dissociating personnel drown themselves in crumpled magazines.
Gagging workers of the hive, no will to unite.
Not lively, not desirous of human interaction.
Able only to complete pointless, pensive, and plentiful tasks.
Noodles float atop congealed bacterial chicken broth in stained Tupperware
in the lunch room.
Tangle ladies, tangle yourselves up in the tentacles of corporate conquest.
silent tongues actively gagging.
not able.
noodles tangle.
Jan. 4
Dear Professor ____,
I am an inmate here in a prison in ____ and I got your name from an engaging op-ed article of yours in the Times some weeks ago. I am writing to ask if you would please consider arranging a one year subscription to the Times for me.
I apologize if you find my request offensive but I enjoy literate material and feel the newspaper an excellent alternative to a college classroom. An inmate here in the facility has a subscription and once in a while an issue will trickle into my hands, which is how I came across your piece and the enclosed order form. I should add that I don't skim through the Times but spend a few
I know why, and how we fall in love; what types we're likely to fall for, based on traits of our own; how we spin myths around the object of our desire, and how they fall short.
It is not an idea that I miss, it is a man. No, it is the idea that I miss, not the man. I fall for the ideas, and the myths I spin so fancifully around the objects. For the clothes, the mannner, the collar bones and the nails are my ideas.
I point at your fingers and want to steal them for my Frankenstein, but then there's the nails of the other person I just saw, the ears of the guy next door, brows of a friend's girlfriend and feet of the model on the cover of th