This week’s Little Vines.

4790.
weak plus status plus unwilling
can you work out the equation –
can you reconcile these variables?

4791.
tight-fisted and
when you pry apart his clenched fingers
empty-handed

4792.
the psychology
of leaving a piece of pie in the dish –
you puzzle over it while I grab the slice and eat it

4793.
a frenzy of a rainstorm
clean sidewalks float beneath a dragonfly
on vacation in the city

4794.
I’m left with the residue of a complex partnership
of stove and kettle and tea leaves and water –
a sludge of sugar at the bottom of my teacup

4795.
The tree always looks all right
until it isn’t
and it topples onto your car

4796.
if she can’t cook,
as you say, well, then,
specify your dinner selections very carefully.

4797.
the forks wrapped inside
cocoons of white linen table napkins
await their signal to emerge into the light

4798.
I’ve got four kids
I live in a terrarium
I couldn’t be happier
Why are you looking at me like that?

4799.
with strange silver gold-flakes of
a perfume wafting in her wake, she moves on:
her spike heels stab the carpet like thorns into flesh

4800.
A storefront nightclub
The sounds of a séance/rock’n’roll oldies night
The plate glass window rattles. Bricks fall.

4801.
Creepy
not new not sophisticated not quirky not edgy
Just creepy.

4802.
the pie is falling the pie is falling
and…yes!
it’s a clean entry into the digestive tract!

4803.
the skeletons of the junkies
rattle inside their skins
clacking to the rhythm of the dark song
with its cursed lyrics

4804.
slap slap slap the sound of
running footsteps and then
whimpers. prayers. screams.

4805.
opera singer
her voice
the sparkle of a sunrise in a jewel box

4806.
I walk across the lake
in slick-bottomed slippers
tripping on a swell or two
just before dawn

4807.
the casualness
of the toothbrush
stuck half-in the holder in the pink bathroom

4808.
the second place award:
a silver grape you can wear on a chain?
I tossed my cigarette into the canal and laughed.

4809.
hot dog and mustard
baked sidewalks in the sun
diesel fumes spewed from a bus
street aroma summer mix

4810.
sweet pea, I know
it would make any pea angry
being stuck in a casserole like this

4811.
I’ve made mistakes I’ve flouted rules
I’ve outlined the edges and then gone over
I’ve burned my bridges with gasoline
Not much for introspection, no, I am not.