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Hemingway On Trash Day

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The morning sun rose up over the flat prairie, and the powdery snow crunched as you walked on it, and the air was so crisp it hurt as you took a breath. That is good, I thought. That is how you knew you were alive, and I was truly very alive, and there was not much to do so…

Insufficient

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We have read your book, but regret to inform you that it is insufficient. This is not to say that you as a person are insufficient, simply that your writing is. When you asked us what percentage of manuscripts we found sufficient, we told you, “Less tha

Three Network News Ledes on the Death of Jimmy Buffet

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“He spent four lonely days in a brown L.A. haze, and now Jimmy Buffet is dead.” —Brian Williams, NBC Nightly News “Jimmy Buffet—beloved parrot-head singer-songwriter—has given up his search for that lost shaker of salt. He…

Brian's Bride

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I had a dream. "And it was a long dream, as dreams go. . ."

Corkscrewing, Pt. II.

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Well, just put your hand on my knee, alone in my room, perv, unasked-and-unflirted for, go get a date, you coward, you limp-dicked male bitch . . .

The Five of Cups

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Men aren't good at these kinds of things, my mother tells me. She states it as if it is a scientific fact.

A Christmas Tale

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leaning over the banister, her Christmas waist making the wood swoon and creak, a warning sign if there ever was one...

Poets and Roadkill

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It is indisputable that poets love roadkill...

Girl Ajar

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Mother saw and swung. It was a talented slap. The kind which left white welts and then dissolved to venom in your veins. The inside of your cheek puckered and bloated.

The Eleventh Commandment

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I never thought I’d miss the sound of church bells, reminding me of my sudden apostasy, faintly ringing over the rumpus where even the birds can’t get a word in edgeways.

Progresso

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I don't see why you didn’t get a dozen while you were at it.

The Future and Why We are Afraid

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Once, when I had not talked to you in a long time, I woke with your name in my mouth.

A Sometimes Niggling Notion

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A po'm

It's True What They Say

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Pa grasps my fingers, odd because he's never held my hand and he's dead ten years anyway.

WHORES

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... if they called her Mother, would she take them home and raise them?

I Am the Poet Laureate

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I am the Poet Laureate of my bedroom I am the Poet Laureate of 6065 Chabot Road, Jokeland I am the Poet Laureate of the Loser Café I have wind in my shoes if not my hair I am the Poet Laureate of Karmic Impulses Of tabloids and gossip I am

Criminals

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What about the goons? Those criminals thwarted and left for dead in every action movie for the past thirty years. I'm sure at least a dozen survived the slaughters. I'm sure at least one or two came out if it reformed. This one who quit working for Columbian drug smugglers…

Laughing, Crying

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It was Brad, for short; or so he would say. But really his name was Bradford, and he was a writer. He had almost always lived in New York. He was only half-white. His mother had run away with a black man in the sixties. Her father had told her to never come back to…

boomeander

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A CEO would also be a an EOC, only inside-out and backward. But upside-down, both are still what they are.

That is That

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Alexander Ivanovich stuck out his leg and tripped Daniil Ivanovich Yuvachev. Daniil Ivanovich Yuvachev stood up, took two steps forward, stuck out his leg and tripped Alexander Ivanovich.

A Life

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Born, he stood up. He wore nothing as often as possible

Against Romanticism

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And because the film is French, the camera pauses / long moments at the curve of her neck, it watches/ her finger vermilion tulips in a vase. Her new lover,/ a wisp of a man, looks good in leather./ The camera pans quickly across beige suede,/ rests long

STONE

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Man waters Earth with his eyes.

VCR CIA

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When VCRs were invented in the 1970s, the first big user segment was people who wanted to watch porno films in the comfort of their own home. Troy and Lynn's upstairs neighbor, James, an enlisted man in the Navy stationed at Pearl Harbor, had a vast porn…

Claudine

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She lifts her head, nose heavenward. There’s a wet spot on my dress from our lovemaking, its aroma as heady as Claudine’s bouillabaisse. I hope she smells it.

Appearances

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Vito stood before the mirror combing his dark, freshly-cut hair. He trimmed his thick mustache, then buttoned his black vest. He liked its tight fit against his muscular torso. He had difficulty fastening the top button of his white shirt, the collar tigh

Security

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Her preferred post-coital activity is to pant, to suck in air with urgent greed.

The Stone Garden

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A story for Halloween.

Please, tell me of the smell of the moon

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Do you know first hiss of batter hitting groundnut oil in a shallow pan, I ask, on a morning after a long, dream-ridden sleep?

Cinderella Reconsiders

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take back all the falderal and friggin' fiddle dee dee take back the mad murmuring of ten minutes ago