I ran through the rain, holding the letter to my chest, I had to send it out now, I had to send it out today. The rain soaked me to the bone but I was flying as high as a kite. There wasn’t anything that would get in the way of me, and sending this letter!
i am staring. coincidentally at the postage sitting in front of my desktop computer. hoping to use it. i want to gain the courage and send you a letter. tell you about my weakness. how much i love, no lust is a better word. how much i lust…?
Postage is stuff that you stick on a letter. I remember when it was 5 cents to mail a letter clear across the country. But you had to lick the stamps. Now you don’t have to lick the stamps, the letters still go clear across the country, and they get there a lot faster than they used to, too. I think that’s a good thing.
The postage arrived early today. it was not what I wanted since the post is my least favorite part of the day. always letters arriving, never of one to just say hi or how are you. Terrible. Completely terrible. it’s always bills or for someone else.
The letters he wrote always spelled like him. It was one of the reasons Arthur kept them. One time, he worked up the courage to tell him that and the next day, in the mail. there was an old, worn shirt. he had put it on and breathed deeply, loving it and loving him.
Waiting in line for postage she was attracted to the lady in many layers of clothing who shrieked about flag stamps like a witch crying for sainthood in the madhouse.
stamps of old, no longer used
postage, what is it does anyone know
our kids won’t know what it is
they will see old remenances of it
but have no idea what it is
it will date us
it i
words seek definition inherently, the juxtaposition of letters, spaces, punctuation. arrangements, mosaics, timelines that all lead to now, built and pieced together form words uttered, stumbled over, blurted out, sighed and whimpered, wailed and trailed off.
She walked slowly to the post office entrance. “What if she never gets it?”, she thought to herself. She had to try. “Would you like any insurance with that?”, the burly looking employee asked. I wish.
One postage stamp will send my letter across the seas to my birth father in France. That postage stamp will carry my words filled with love, sadness and joy to a man tending his garden in the countryside.
Oh shoot I have to get my package from the post office. I hate their policy where if it stays too long they send it back. What if it’s clothing? They won’t return that if I don’t get it. I don’t know how late the post office stays open either. I’m just feeling soooo lazy. Okay, I’ll do it now. I’ll get up and go. Hopefully it hasn’t been ten days already. I’d hate to waste someone’s postage.
What travels the world and stays in a single corner?
Why, a postage stamp.
With just a little postage stamp I can send you my heart all wrapped up in words and sealed in an envelope for safekeeping. Wherever you go, I can follow.
“Mom, this package came postage due,” Marty said as he held the small brown paper wrapped box to his mother. “Hmm, the return address is Kenya,” Mary Barton studied the package. “Why on earth would be get something from there?” “Um, Mom? Remember how you told me that if I’d better eat my Brussels sprouts because there were starving children in Africa? Well, I sent them over there and they must have not wanted ’em either.”
I paid the postage for overnight delivery and watched the boxes disappear. One to each one of your lovers. A part of you always seemed to be with each of them when we were together.
It was just a small thing, really; but as she ripped open the letter her smile grew. She drew out the folded sheets of paper and her smile widened as she perused the handwritten sheaves. It was just a small thing– but with just the price of a stamp, he had completely made her week.
It took twenty days to convince myself to write. It took 3 hours to jot down every thought, another 2 to convince myself it was done. 10 minutes to fold, 2 to address, and at the end of it all, the blood sweat and tears, I had no postage. fuck.
Well, a couple days ago, I got some books in the mail. Don’t you just love that feeling when you open up a package? The first thing I do when I get new books is smell them.
TWENTY SEVEN CENTS TO MAIL A POSTCARD! What abominable OUTRAGE is this! Never in my life have I so been insulted by postage! You, you little man! You will correct this IMMEDIATELY!
Slurp. Tongues tend not to actually make that noise when they are used on small items, such as postage stamps. It’s only when you’re licking something already wet or organic that that onomatopoeic sound emerges.
I sent you a letter
twice in the past week
thinking that the third time was a charm
and thought you were my fourth love,
but you never responded
and all my numbered stamps were for nothing.
She licked the back of the stamp and laid in the on the envelope. A bright pink flower laid in the right corner, and since she liked it so much, she put stamps all over the piece of mail. With a smile, she wrote on the front, “You’re worth more than 44 cents.”
Fly the pigeons, send the mail. When it gets there, what will it tell? Hark! The pigeon, it comes with news! Pay your respects, pay your dues. This small creature, sending postage here to there. Over miles of country, through the air. I wish I could travel like that, with a purpose so important as to deliver correspondence.
I need more postage stamps so I could finish the sentence that is our relationship.
I send you one word at a time, I wonder what you think it’ll look like in the end.
“How much?” “The postage will be forty dollars.” “What?” I guess sending thirty-two poptarts to my Irish penpal was more than I thought. Why doesn’t Ireland have poptarts?
“so sorry,this is airmail and you forgot to pay your postage,”suddenly,as if awakened from a dream,i realized that not only was i between jessie’s legs,but we were both a mile up in the air!!!she spread ’em apart…and,helplessly, i began to fall towards the ground
stamps? I like stamps. teh word postage is what you have to pay to get thinks mailed. it’s a noun, not a verb, and it’s of interest. it has a very nice sound, an “udge” ending. Tastes good. I like it. It’s the act f posting something, almost.
She licked the stamp and put it on what was quite possibly the most important letter of her life. Her college application. Would she be accepted? Would it get lost in the mail? Who knew, she didn’t.
The mail came yesterday. I was not expecting he letter cyhat came in it, though: CONFIDENTIAL, for Miraby’s eyes only. My name. I ripped open the crisp white envelope only to pull out an old, yellow pape. It crinkled under my touch as I read the first line.
She hadn’t heard from him in months. Not since he left without a word. She wanted to see his face, to hear his voice, to know he was okay. But mostly she needed answers.
She dropped the letter in the mailbox and walked away. Hopefully it would reach him soon.
Everyone aspires to be on a stamp one day, even if snail mail is no longer used. They’ll keep manufacturing stamps just to put people in it, and then you’ll just have to stick it somewhere else, like on your monitor or on the dog’s forehead.
I shouldn’t send it. It’s cruel, it’s something I will regret, but I lick the stamp anyway and toss the envelope into the slot. It’s not my fault anymore.
I ran through the rain, holding the letter to my chest, I had to send it out now, I had to send it out today. The rain soaked me to the bone but I was flying as high as a kite. There wasn’t anything that would get in the way of me, and sending this letter!
if i could afford
to pay the postage
i’d mail myself to you
wrapped up in tissue
stuffed in a box
with packing peanuts
i am staring. coincidentally at the postage sitting in front of my desktop computer. hoping to use it. i want to gain the courage and send you a letter. tell you about my weakness. how much i love, no lust is a better word. how much i lust…?
Postage is stuff that you stick on a letter. I remember when it was 5 cents to mail a letter clear across the country. But you had to lick the stamps. Now you don’t have to lick the stamps, the letters still go clear across the country, and they get there a lot faster than they used to, too. I think that’s a good thing.
The postage arrived early today. it was not what I wanted since the post is my least favorite part of the day. always letters arriving, never of one to just say hi or how are you. Terrible. Completely terrible. it’s always bills or for someone else.
The letters he wrote always spelled like him. It was one of the reasons Arthur kept them. One time, he worked up the courage to tell him that and the next day, in the mail. there was an old, worn shirt. he had put it on and breathed deeply, loving it and loving him.
Waiting in line for postage she was attracted to the lady in many layers of clothing who shrieked about flag stamps like a witch crying for sainthood in the madhouse.
stamps of old, no longer used
postage, what is it does anyone know
our kids won’t know what it is
they will see old remenances of it
but have no idea what it is
it will date us
it i
words seek definition inherently, the juxtaposition of letters, spaces, punctuation. arrangements, mosaics, timelines that all lead to now, built and pieced together form words uttered, stumbled over, blurted out, sighed and whimpered, wailed and trailed off.
She walked slowly to the post office entrance. “What if she never gets it?”, she thought to herself. She had to try. “Would you like any insurance with that?”, the burly looking employee asked. I wish.
One postage stamp will send my letter across the seas to my birth father in France. That postage stamp will carry my words filled with love, sadness and joy to a man tending his garden in the countryside.
Oh shoot I have to get my package from the post office. I hate their policy where if it stays too long they send it back. What if it’s clothing? They won’t return that if I don’t get it. I don’t know how late the post office stays open either. I’m just feeling soooo lazy. Okay, I’ll do it now. I’ll get up and go. Hopefully it hasn’t been ten days already. I’d hate to waste someone’s postage.
What travels the world and stays in a single corner?
Why, a postage stamp.
With just a little postage stamp I can send you my heart all wrapped up in words and sealed in an envelope for safekeeping. Wherever you go, I can follow.
“Mom, this package came postage due,” Marty said as he held the small brown paper wrapped box to his mother. “Hmm, the return address is Kenya,” Mary Barton studied the package. “Why on earth would be get something from there?” “Um, Mom? Remember how you told me that if I’d better eat my Brussels sprouts because there were starving children in Africa? Well, I sent them over there and they must have not wanted ’em either.”
I paid the postage for overnight delivery and watched the boxes disappear. One to each one of your lovers. A part of you always seemed to be with each of them when we were together.
And now, each of them will have a piece of you.
It was just a small thing, really; but as she ripped open the letter her smile grew. She drew out the folded sheets of paper and her smile widened as she perused the handwritten sheaves. It was just a small thing– but with just the price of a stamp, he had completely made her week.
It took twenty days to convince myself to write. It took 3 hours to jot down every thought, another 2 to convince myself it was done. 10 minutes to fold, 2 to address, and at the end of it all, the blood sweat and tears, I had no postage. fuck.
Well, a couple days ago, I got some books in the mail. Don’t you just love that feeling when you open up a package? The first thing I do when I get new books is smell them.
TWENTY SEVEN CENTS TO MAIL A POSTCARD! What abominable OUTRAGE is this! Never in my life have I so been insulted by postage! You, you little man! You will correct this IMMEDIATELY!
Slurp. Tongues tend not to actually make that noise when they are used on small items, such as postage stamps. It’s only when you’re licking something already wet or organic that that onomatopoeic sound emerges.
I’ve plenty postage to send my heart.
I sent you a letter
twice in the past week
thinking that the third time was a charm
and thought you were my fourth love,
but you never responded
and all my numbered stamps were for nothing.
I got this letter today but you didn’t pay. Thanks for sticking me with the postage!
She licked the back of the stamp and laid in the on the envelope. A bright pink flower laid in the right corner, and since she liked it so much, she put stamps all over the piece of mail. With a smile, she wrote on the front, “You’re worth more than 44 cents.”
postage is what you find on an envelope. postage costs money. we can’t mail with out it. postage can be pretty
Postage won’t ever be obsolete. Neither will smiles or frowns.
Laughter may not stand a chance though.
Fly the pigeons, send the mail. When it gets there, what will it tell? Hark! The pigeon, it comes with news! Pay your respects, pay your dues. This small creature, sending postage here to there. Over miles of country, through the air. I wish I could travel like that, with a purpose so important as to deliver correspondence.
postage stamps,
what you put on letters
i gave you a letter,
and you just appreciated it,
still no straight answer,
i guess she wins again.
I need more postage stamps so I could finish the sentence that is our relationship.
I send you one word at a time, I wonder what you think it’ll look like in the end.
Rain pelts from skies above
Treading feet flee from a cove
A message so small, so dire
This message to save us all from fire
I’m getting a box in the mail sometime next week. I’m very excited. I can’t wait to find out what she sent me. I’m really excited.
“How much?” “The postage will be forty dollars.” “What?” I guess sending thirty-two poptarts to my Irish penpal was more than I thought. Why doesn’t Ireland have poptarts?
“so sorry,this is airmail and you forgot to pay your postage,”suddenly,as if awakened from a dream,i realized that not only was i between jessie’s legs,but we were both a mile up in the air!!!she spread ’em apart…and,helplessly, i began to fall towards the ground
stamps? I like stamps. teh word postage is what you have to pay to get thinks mailed. it’s a noun, not a verb, and it’s of interest. it has a very nice sound, an “udge” ending. Tastes good. I like it. It’s the act f posting something, almost.
She licked the stamp and put it on what was quite possibly the most important letter of her life. Her college application. Would she be accepted? Would it get lost in the mail? Who knew, she didn’t.
The mail came yesterday. I was not expecting he letter cyhat came in it, though: CONFIDENTIAL, for Miraby’s eyes only. My name. I ripped open the crisp white envelope only to pull out an old, yellow pape. It crinkled under my touch as I read the first line.
She hadn’t heard from him in months. Not since he left without a word. She wanted to see his face, to hear his voice, to know he was okay. But mostly she needed answers.
She dropped the letter in the mailbox and walked away. Hopefully it would reach him soon.
Everyone aspires to be on a stamp one day, even if snail mail is no longer used. They’ll keep manufacturing stamps just to put people in it, and then you’ll just have to stick it somewhere else, like on your monitor or on the dog’s forehead.
I shouldn’t send it. It’s cruel, it’s something I will regret, but I lick the stamp anyway and toss the envelope into the slot. It’s not my fault anymore.
“The postage is two pounds.”
A cruel laugh.
“What? Two pounds? You devil, you! It was only eighty pence last time!”