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Steps

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He deplaned Air France flight 9 from JFK to Charles de Gaulle airport at quarter past noon.

A Thought for Emily's Sleep

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Your precious feet were there once, pressed against the familiar floorboards, where your poems suddenly appeared to you, flashing like lightning. I wonder which window they came in? Here's a thought: you were like that window. You caught…

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 6

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When I got word from Mary Jo, she warned me that Mitchell Parkman was out looking for me with a butcher knife. I knew immediately what I had to do. I packed up my things and sold the Pepsi van and moved up to a room on Regent Street in Berkeley, all the w

Pectoralis Minor

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Her thumbs tucked beneath the waistline of her pants, slightly pulling them down to expose the eternity between belly button and bliss. I looked up at her as I slid my tongue along the rail of her hip, sucking at its point.

77 Words About Saturday

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Another Saturday in April. Another set of scars.

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

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Pre-mortem

The Untold Story

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I kept a journal for so many years I've forgotten everything I wrote.

Last Night, I Had a Beer with God

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"So" he started, which troubled me enough to turn back around and make such focused eye contact that I did not even notice his glass was again full, "you wanted to talk?"

Learning to Love Your Permanent Stillness

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["GET UP, GET GET, GET DOWN ... 9-11'S A JOKE IN *your* TOWN!"]

Lost in Suomi

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Wind pummeled me awake, smelling of pine and some quality of newness I could not identify...

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…

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

Uncle Moscow

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He asked me to bury him in Vegas. Instead, I had him cremated in Trenton.

Cloudstopper

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She's the one you remember when there's talk of the blow.

Local Man Makes Good

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A junkyard Bison seems an odd choice over the usual dog, but it did the job--trampling trespassers, vagrants and unautorized salvagers with a violent and admirable efficiency

Constable Pulce and the Sunny Dystopia

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Alessandro was no ordinary demon (what demon is?), insofar as he had Constable Pulce's number. In demonly fashion he had Pulce's number in a way Pulce himself did not.

Before My Change Jar Went Missing

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These are the small miracles we witness from my barrio stoop.

The Celebrity

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I love reading about myself. There's nothing more gratifying than seeing my name in the paper, knowing so many people are interested in who I am and what I do.

Dead Woman's Shoes

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Loving you, I always knew, was a job I’d only get via a dead woman’s shoes. There you were, the recipient of pot roasts, fresh bread, at a loss amongst neighbourhood widows and divorcees. A tide of them rolled over you in calico blouses, cut off jeans

Syrup

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Things aren't going to get better are they? Would you like a sugar cube? No. Are you sure? I put acid on it. Oh, well yes, I guess then. Cool. Things might get better for a little bit then. Or horribly worse. Ha. Awesome. They taste like an orgasm…

The Investigator

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The investigator starts by accumulating facts, as many facts as he can. He sifts through them with meticulous precision, leaving no leaf unturned, no page unread.

The "Just Do It" Moon

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The calls come in a few times a week. When the unknown someone calls Safety Now, Radon Testing and Elimination Headquarters, Mrs. R. wonders who it is that just sits silently on the other end of the line. She wants to say, "Look, if you're a bill colle

Faith, Hope, and Charity

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She wears three or four tattered sweaters on cool days. She pushes a basket borrowed from a grocery store. There is a plastic lawn bag in the basket with God knows what inside.

Roy G. Biv

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Perhaps a blue person is more alive underneath than a red. Red is eye-catching and flashy, but blue is substantial, secretive. Of course, blood is red, and there’s nothing more substantial than blood, but we’re on blue at the moment, and the thought

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.

Daddy, Can I Have A Puppy?

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Dad must have walked around with me 20 times, the store closed around us and finally he said I could have one. They were all in different poses and sizes, with black spots. Except one. One had silver spots.

At the Jennifer Aniston Intensive Haircare Clinic

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Hunger only makes people hungry, but bad hair can ruin your whole day.

Hyena Spit The Poem

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is

Snake Walk

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The Viper turns so quickly that Father's grabbing hand now faces its head instead of its tail.

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?