1948 22 15
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The river’s not/
a river but/
a FEMA map/
of flooding probabilities.
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1948 17 7
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The transformation in their domineering, sour mother revised her children’s memories of their childhoods.
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1948 17 10
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Even if your heart is as large as a small car, your tongue as heavy as two grown men—even then—you will have to carry it with you wherever you go.
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1948 1 1
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maybe if I bat my lashes just right, or look prim enough to fly, you just might touch me tonight, and the dream will pop and fizz and I will wake somewhere, your hands smoothing these lines of worry away.
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1948 19 17
|
A flash in seven chapters.
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1948 3 2
|
your olive-pitting thumbs
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1948 21 14
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I don't want / to write about the body indulged, desires / denied, tortures invented, pleasures innate
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1948 12 9
|
Harpo sits and looks at something I can't see. I drink beer and ask him questions. I ask him how they found the cancer. Backache, he says. He went to see a doctor.
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1947 4 2
|
I know I know how many times you want me to tell you I’m sorry, okay?
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1947 0 0
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From the moment they had decided to come until the present, each seated guest had been parading one faceless male possibility after another through her curious mind. Would he be strong? Handsome? Ugly? Crippled? The possibilities were endless...
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1947 30 12
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What scares her about libraries are unshelved books, the ones you thumb through while you are waiting for the elevator, because you realize that there are too many books in the world and you are holding that particular book only because it is lost.
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1947 12 10
|
Christ walks the streets of Venice,/has long since become a regular . . .
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1946 6 3
|
Oh, also, had no idea what the whole visit to the Kingdom of the Dead was getting at. Interesting, but seems unrelated to the larger story. I'd cut it. Remember — this is a story about one man's attempt to get home. Stay focused on that.
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1946 11 4
|
Men and their inevitable disappointments—sure, why not?
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1946 9 3
|
We hit the road, headed west.
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1945 13 7
|
beware the slice of the knife cutting like a curious comet blasting through solar systems down the throat of the bad ass milky way
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1945 1 1
|
When I was six, my father brought home a fishbowl. Look out for the inhabitants, he said. You can play Neptune in their microcosm of the sea.
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1945 8 7
|
Before he was Francesco Martinelli
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1945 1 1
|
I bet if I went back, Old Stradlater would still be combing his gorgeous locks in front of the same goddam mirror.
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1945 10 10
|
A block after his first crime, he found a bookstore to commit another.
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1945 6 6
|
ghosts are local plagues/of unexpended grief—tears/can't be bodiless.
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1945 7 6
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This no man's island I'm perched high above isn't always so beautiful to the casual beholder of newly printed maps. Oh don't go and get your clouds all wrong. Puffed or thin, everything I say I believe in is a real feeling, until the music dies…
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1945 18 17
|
Soon, she will turn to liquid
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1945 1 0
|
"People just weren't getting it," he continued, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and hiccuping mildly. "It looks like it's time to UP the ANTE!"
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1944 11 6
|
It is certain. The roofs are hats for the houses because you wear a hat in the rain or the snow or even and sometimes especially the sun. The houses are curious. They keep their hats on at night. The downspouts for run-off water are strands of hair such as…
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1944 1 1
|
Whispers flew, like wild darts across the room. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. Right then, it wasn’t my job to figure things out; it was my job to cry.
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1944 0 0
|
it was one of those days, nostalgically bathed in technicolor, kodachrome and lost shades from a more vibrant distant past. squirrel jesus sat still
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1943 6 1
|
Bearing the smell of paper on her fingertips. Ink in her hair.
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1943 8 5
|
For the next two hours, Ed goes nonchalantly about his business, buck naked the whole time. He putters around the house, writes e mails, waters plants, vacuums the rug and sweeps the porch. I pretend to ignore his nudity
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1943 5 2
|
Vladimir and Estragon stood hunched at the corner of Ellis and Taylor in San Francisco's Tenderloin district. Bedraggled and spent, they looked dully around them at pretty much nothing. They could have been thirty, or maybe…
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