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Sally Sally Sally, don't you go round those roses,those roses, they can hurt you. Now that someonehas written a poem about youit is maybe not the poem you would want written about you.In another universe you may have been a revenge haikuprinted on a greeting card on…
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You may want to know
who wrote the book of love, but
all I really want to know is who,
who sprayed the dinosaurs with graffiti?
Not some poser
Not some Svengali
Not some last minute
giraffe
Not someone from the all girl’s band
kn
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In the fall it is especially beautiful with the blazing orange oaks set on fire against a crystal blue sky. It is here that she frequently daydreams of her demise.
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He arrives at the appointed hour, driving up the dusty road in his '68 Ford truck. On the side is stenciled “Sampson's Farrier Service.” He parks in front of the barn. Patience watches from the front porch, where she has just set down a…
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Everything sensed is a drop of experience in the cosmos. Writing brings on the rain.
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Michiko stood in front of Steinway Hall on West 57th Street.
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The snake-like veins began to pulsate angrily, and viciously about his body. Quickly he rose up about the girl. His heart was now pounding rapidly against his chest. Outstretched, were his wings, the width of the balcony, white and decrepit and old, yet s
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I don’t know what happened. One day I was in her room, groping the various drawers for hidden condoms, glimpses of women’s undergarments and I found a spectacular pair of blue lace panties
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I will show you how, in the spring,
the sidewalks here
look like a crossword puzzle resting under
a glass of lemonade,
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When the snow geese fly to the warming marshes,when the ice melts on the pond in the wood,when the sweet breath of fresh-mown haylofts over us and settles on the fields,I will remember you have been a blessing,a quiet steady forceWe will sit at the kitchen table and…
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nothing. But it could be something. I don't know. We'd probably have to agree on at least one thing for it to turn around and face us. Then it would have to be named, set free. We could watch it fly away together. That's a portend to…
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To what better worlds remain.
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Ha. “Real damage.” The guy was in the ICU when I woke up in the jail cell. Turns out he was a cop. In a small town. The town where it happened. How I ended up in the state police holding cell, I have no idea. Just lucky, I guess.
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He was drinking heavily again and complaining that there was nothing fresh worth writing about.
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It was a phone call we never expected. You were so full of life and joy and the sound of your laugh was pierced in our minds. Two strokes. That's what they said. No explanation, no back story. We worried we would lose you. Immediately, all of our memories with you started…
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Have you ever heard a bird sneeze?
Okay, okay, I was sitting on this branch,
and you know how everybody loves to hate poetry, right?
So, I ran into some hippies, who had named their daughter Echinacea,
and you could instantly read her future, and
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It was a Thursday. That's when I found out about the blueberries. Those precious, round little wonders, now forever untouchable.I left the note on the ledge of the balcony, taped down so it wouldn't fly away.It was going to come to this, eventually. After…
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That son of a bitch meant every word. Every filthy mouthful of insults that hit me was intentional and focused.
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I ate 3 pieces of a broken heart
I wonder who ate the rest?
They may have eaten the best
I don’t know and can’t even start
To wonder how it got in such a mess
3 pieces of a broken heart
You could tell it just fell apart
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He looked at a man in a straw hat on YouTube and thought “that could've been me, if I'd learned to play the guitar.” He savored the wistfulness of the moment. The pluperfect always made him sad. But the conditional was almost too much to bear. Octopi were a…
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He honestly could care less. We should converse, you and I, he says. All right, she says. She lays down the baster in her drawn out way, heel to toe on the countertop, one step in a…
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he flies away
past the green explosion,
into the azure sky
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You wake up. Slowly but surely. Okay, you're in the bookshop. Yes, apparently this is where you slept, on the floor, with absolutely no sense of irony, in the romantic fiction section...
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Now how do you feel about that,
My future graverobber friend?
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"So what about this week's selection?" I ask cheerfully. "What did everybody think?"
"I liked it!" says Liz. She always does--her tastes aren't very discriminating.
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No excerpts for you. Next!
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My grandfather’s soul
And his infinite high-pitched laughter
Intervene
And the alcohol that
Brought him closer to heaven
But that wreaked havoc
Among his family
And my father
Washes down the gullies of the
Future
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today on the bus/ a man in his fifties/ smiled at a baby/
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Ten am, and the piledriver behind Rhys's eyes shows no sign of mercy. Beyond the safety glass, caverns of empty air tumble down and out to where the edge of the city is lost in the murk. The figures on the screen pulse and phase with the hideous internal rhythm of his…
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