1835 11 5
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This weekend was supposed to be about intellect and soul-mating, but, like all others, it's turned into body and longing. You sit in my passenger seat and I let you smoke in my wee car with the windows rolled down. We've come from a wedding, a fairy ring, a…
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1835 6 4
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He had stared at the back of his neck for so long that images of his nape flashed into view randomly throughout the day like interfering signals from a station just out of reach, DESIRE CHANNEL, or something, reminding him of his skewed priorities, his fa
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1835 21 11
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Guys on safari wearing safari jackets shoot things all day, things with funny names …
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1834 2 1
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Mrs. Noah eyed the thickening clouds from the front stoop. Noah was still out in the yard kicking up sand in disgust, arguing with himself the whole time. Piles of cedar timber lay strewn all about. Maybe if they’d lived even three days’ journey clos
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1834 3 2
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Matthias Fenstermacher loved onions, but hated slicing them, and so he labored to produce a tearless variety. His first attempt was indeed tearless--instead of weeping, the slicer was overcome by fits of uncontrollable giggles. The potential hazard was
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1834 9 6
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People suck. They suck you down, and if you're not careful, they'll ruin you.
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1834 2 1
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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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1834 8 4
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I awake one morning to find that still,
the leaves continue to fall.
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1834 5 2
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1834 14 8
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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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1834 2 1
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I look at that wall, it has piss-stain yellow paint and water scars from several years of leaky pipes. I say I wouldn’t mind that, if he took out some of that wall.
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1834 18 14
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Also in development,/
the anatomically perfect robot/
pool boy and naughty maid,
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1834 9 7
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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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1834 15 14
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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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1834 21 19
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The younger woman asked Scott if he loved Jesus.
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1834 2 2
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1833 4 3
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take back all the falderal
and friggin' fiddle dee dee
take back the mad murmuring
of ten minutes ago
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1833 0 0
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said you loved me
told some jokes
aren’t you dying?
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1833 9 4
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A jollier zombie you shall never find. You must trust me on this!
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1833 12 9
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His knife enters the Maui onion. He minces garlic and applies heat to pan and melts sweet cream butter and browns the garlic first and then he adds the onion and more heat, but it's time that will surely caramelize them. Salt and pepper and splashes of wine for the pan and…
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1833 0 0
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"Did I have a choice? Could I just open my eyes, did I have to ‘see’ as he was telling me now I could? I decided to go for it. What did I have to lose? This was all a dream, too much driving to get here, too much reunion, too much food, too much beer. Or
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1833 13 9
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Like many little towns, ours has an archive. It is a catalog of everything that happens.
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1833 11 10
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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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1833 10 6
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He is drilling the door of a safe to access the keys he locked inside.
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1833 0 0
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an ominous figure of fear and grace a ball moves back and forth
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1833 0 1
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“Don’t you wish it always ended that way? The right people fall in love? Romance leads to marriage? God, that was a great movie.”
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1832 7 4
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"Merry Christmas, Willie."
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1832 10 8
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Half-pint Ball canning jars, each labeled in earnest capital letters, took up a whole wall of Teeny’s bedroom. Inside each jar was air she had collected from some place important to her life.
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1832 6 6
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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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1832 6 3
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You took up residence on the dark side of things, a bolthole in a wind-flayed right angle of a tower block where pigeons and suicides tumbled blackly on the air currents. You set about drifting off from who you were on a tide of cheap whisky and bad poetry, graduating…
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