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In transit

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Clare sits bolt upright in the hard plastic chair, warily tracking every passer-by. In her lap, Kim’s hair is damp with sweat, dark blonde curls melting against her flushed cheeks. Clare absently strokes the length, soothing both of them.

“Adrien Brody,” Adrien Brody, and Adrien Brody’s Nose: A Response to Tao Lin’s Response to “Tumblr ‘Shit-Talking’”

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Here is “Adrien Brody” through a Freudian lens: Calloway wanted to fuck her father. She flew to New York City to fuck a version of her father who has a name similar to an actor with an interesting nose and a lot of talent. Neither Calloway nor the actor n

Old Age

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Are they too old for life's little pleasures? The answer comes as I pass them on the canyon road one morning.

The Runaway Conductor

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For another man she raced through infinite wounds and fists in a monsoon forest. Hands tied to her lover’s for a dance, a roulette of paper cranes exploding across the sky. Cascaded into the sea of black eyelashes.

take

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THERE'D been mutterings on the shareholders' board about a dodgy deal shoved through. In the rush after the towers' thing to get out relevant stock an executive producer had signed off on some film school kid for five big ones to shoot a…

Dragon Eyes

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But forever is only for dragons, and children need to be touched or they die.

for da carey

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mr cummings sounded too formal for a man who didn’t use capital letters. As she climbed the four flights of stairs to the flat, she sang to herself, “I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart).”

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

Secrets of the Kama Sutra

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“No names,” she said. “I am the mysterious woman, and you are the handsome stranger.”

Here She Is

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Indeed, it was quite likely that no one in town had ever played either of these games. The townsfolk were not big fans of word games, though they did enjoy Whist and Canasta.

My Paper Boats, Your Paper Boat

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You make your art when you can and Perhaps vice versa. You really Don't know what that means? Consult your tarot. You make your Art and visualize your mind As a large pool of water. You Make your art and if you're lucky They may…

28

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The signal sets the faint young boys into motion

Dead Girl Rolling

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They left me on a gurney for hours...

Manhattan Love Stories #5: Suicide Birds (sic)

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I look for the boy we met inside the club, the one who claimed he loved playing with matches, setting fire to churches. I spot him smoking a cigarette, standing so cool against the side of the club, like he might be the nephew of some Viking guitarist hun

Our Beautiful Sadly Revolving Broken Wheel of a Heart is Sleeping in a Ditch Somewhere

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The planet looks so peaceful from space doesn't it? Want a blue Gumball? Like a pancake batter with bluish dye mixed into Its big yellow bowl and carried out by a winking Victorian Butler. Like a bowling ball with just the right Weight for your…

Non-Renewable

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we wipe the blood of our progress from our hands.

Death, looking over the poet's shoulder, whispers...

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Pre-mortem

Doors

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Marge came home with a Doors CD.

Road Trip

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I'm sitting in a burned out skeletal frame of an old Cadillac on the side of Route 66 just outside of Kansas. Back home in New York State my sister is explaining to my mother that Jack Kerouac convinced me to run away even though he's been dead for years. They're…

Hyena Spit The Poem

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is

Everything and Nothing

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Joe thought of Evelyn. Walt of Charley. Annabelle dreamt of Paolo in an autumn in Cordoba. Everyone who stayed at Mrs Jackanoe’s guest house in Room 17 and found the note also found some long forgotten feelings.

Precatio contra violo

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The drip of rank meat, his muzzle, his back-barbed tongue: red.

Carrie Nadeau

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She wouldn't have been the first.

GOD'S FACE

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I was a Cub Scout, and the face of God was a joke that was told to my little pack. The joke went as thus:

Wheelbarrow

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He was ready for the rub. Tense. She could always tell. The legs, the shuffles. He had to be frantic before he would come to her, his own wife. Vanity, fright. She could read him like a book open on the table, turn his pages the way a fish flakes. "It's comfort night,…

Spatter

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Splat.

The Scenes Speak for Themslves

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We are the images, the tableau vivant, the one-person shows, the scenes from scattered plays. We wait for the Caretaker who prompts us to play and replay one by one on her rounds.

Two Little Fictions

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His work was done. For sixty years, beginning soon after his seventeenth birthday, he had listened to the gods- good, bad, somewhere in between-

at night, she comes

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My head was swimming with nicotine, the coldness of the first snow, and unfinished love thoughts.

Frozen Shells

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I had some words, but the truth is they don't mean a thing because whatever it is I was trying to say to you always crumbles to the ground in front of you. I had some words, but the bullying wind was stronger than me and ripped them…