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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
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The snake was fang-less and so had to choke her, making the kill bloodless and drawn out, just the way she liked it.
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"Being honest with me," said her teacher, "will hopefully allow you to be honest with yourself--writing is about being honest, and articulating that honesty."
It sounded like a riddle, and her teacher looked at her with the sanctimony of a wizard.
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I bought some charlatan art / and hung it on the wall
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Some of them are notorious tweakers. Nobody epitomizes the cowboy-outlaw biker more than the ironworkers, who are wired on Black Beauties they sell on breaks.
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I can still feel the texture of those humid Delta mornings, hear the rhythm of the voices of black children echoing down the halls. I still remember the sense of purpose that I had each day, knowing that this, here, mattered: a child’s education, their
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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
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Black tagliatelle with squid and funghi porcini. He didn't understand why they called it a special, it had been in the menu since day one they had opened.
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There is a push-up on the ceiling. I don't know how to get it down. I've tried hitting it with a broom. That just made it blow steam. I asked my wife, did you do push-ups on the ceiling? She did. Why? It's easier up there. The cat doesn't bother me. Well, you left…
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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."
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The cabin has windows all around, like ribbon tying a birthday present.
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I stand at the edge of the water naked as a newborn. Tiny ripples lick my toes.
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I didn’t have toothpicks. You looked at me as if it summed up everything about me.
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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.
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Born, he stood up. He wore nothing as often as possible
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Next to you, the mother tightens her grip on her stroller. The young teenager tears her gaze from her mobile phone for an instant.
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And Mickey said to the reporter, "I wrote a play for Richard. It is the wild play I performed with Richard. I think he will like this shit."
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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.
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With such a world/
one must invent a heaven
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After she died, clearing out her safe deposit box at the local bank, I found more numberplates.
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When Kat returned home from The East Street Wars, she learned that her epileptic lover, White Dog, died from madness
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I am reaching out at you, to you from the nest. From the nest, please come to the nest, to see me and to hear my life story. From the nest I go, and then I arrive at the nest, suddenly, just in time to be…
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of any cautionary tale is somewhere found rolling around in your own sweet voice for me. Your sound's still listing there inside my wobbly head. My head is too often in my open hands, grinning behind its face-mask like a parade on…
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Hunger only makes people hungry, but bad hair can ruin your whole day.
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"Merry Christmas, Willie."
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These are the small miracles we witness from my barrio stoop.
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Waking in the middle of the night, tangled in the hotel sheets, I wanted to hear the story again: their pilot friend, the war, his specialty. "It's just a screw, son," Dad said, "nothing exotic."
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