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Kinesiology

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I tell my doc I’m special, 1 in 1,000,000 special: unhitched, pushing 44, and knocked up. "Call Guinness," I joke, and fake jab his right arm. He puts his two hands over mine, smiles gently, like a father.

Prime cut

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1I don't like it when they leave the heads on.I mean it's not nice, is it.The idyllic order of the abattoir.Mary is on stunning and bleeding.She prefers evisceration.Still, the work's ok and it's her day off tomorrow.Deft hands perform their daily ballet.Mary had a…

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.

Poppa

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said you loved me told some jokes aren’t you dying?

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.

Alignment

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The human/ is less dependable than these pinpricks// and the lunar cycle.

Chinese Jacks

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"Carl, do you think we can fit all of our furniture into that red house?" Jeanne asks. She wonders how easily you could burn a red house down, if a claw foot tub will melt or be left standing in a field of black grass. He reaches for her hair, the dizzy smell…

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…

Urgent, breathers: Pee before reading this novel!

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A jollier zombie you shall never find. You must trust me on this!

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,…

Wednesday late, Friday early

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I wrote this during a poetry workshop at the Atlantic Center for the Arts with Carolyn Forché. January, 2015. So much more has happened since that stunning week.

Stories with a hole in it: Tales from Xanadu -------1. The kite

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U-R, UltraReads is my new concept, an experiment designed to suit contemporary need and taste. The handy tablet-size reads can be easily done from your phone anytime, anywhere in the world. Each one comes together with a visual to make the reading experience more…

Ditto

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He looked straight at her, not to challenge her, but to better gauge what it was she would throw at him. Her eyes always darted to the thing right before her red, swollen fingers snatched at it, like a thing possessed.

Bookmark

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Some books are like old friends and when you read them, you no longer feel alone.

Our Neighbors

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It was with the departure of their last child that the Beazleys became grotesquely petty with each other.

Cradle

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Fingers fan like birds’ wings cradling the volume, head hanging low and lips moving silently...

Not Yeatsian

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Didn't he have like a frog No lips so speak of, and the weathered lizard Look of the frequently face-lifted?

Make Out Party

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He begins talking about string theory. He reels me back in, from the dinosaurs to the infinite, human evolution and alternate dimensions, until it makes so little sense that everything makes sense.

The Criminal Intern

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"Look, Ted, I'm on a timer. It's really hell here, you can't imagine. And I have a chance to get paroled early, if you do me a solid."

WHORES

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

War & Peace

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I stand at the edge of the water naked as a newborn. Tiny ripples lick my toes.

Buttons

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I opened my switchblade mouth and sliced through the scab of silence.

Counter intuit

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I I I I

Hyena Spit The Poem

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is

Here I Am

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Here I am in the city where we walked side by side, you had driven a great distance and lost your way somewhere where exits left the highway from both directions and unpredictably.

Your Mystery

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I took it in my hands and used it on my lips. The taste was just hers: her touch, her smell, her breath in the winter nights. She was in this. Everything we had was in this tube.

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

That Pill

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It’s good to have some, Extra weight - Something they can Grab on to, In the sheets, When it’s late-

Cat People #22

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When Kat returned home from The East Street Wars, she learned that her epileptic lover, White Dog, died from madness

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 11

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When we were on the road coming back out to California, along the Lewis and Clark trail somewhere near Cardwell, Montana, I remember thinking life was like leaping through flames while reading poetry and drinking rotgut red wine. This was what life was, a