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Chapter Two: Oracle

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The first thing I saw was a sandal, but it didn't exactly look priestly. It was golden and glowing, and the foot it was strapped to had red painted nails. The straps wrapped around her ankles, and up her slender leg, tied off in a bow below the knee.

Hail to the Pres: Celebrating Lester Young's Birthday

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At a time when jazz had its share of royalty–kings, dukes, and counts–Young was democratically elected the President by an aristocratic vote of one; the best jazz singer alive, his sometime lover Billie Holiday.

Slippery Slope

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A man who is sexually attracted to playground equipment was recently banned from “any location with a slide” after being caught having sex with one. Christopher Johnson, 46, was described by the newspaper who reported this item as having a “powerful…

Must Not Be a Working Bird

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I said, “That bird is hungry.” The sparrow was eying both of us At our separate outside café tables As it hopped around looking for crumbs. Then it would look up at us Expectantly.

Three Micros

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The earth moves.

Ballerina

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His mother was a ballerina.

Wishes Shovel Best

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Just as he expected, the reaction was spontaneous, euphoric and unequivocally positive. With just one exception. A politician connected with the home service of his parliamentary section's boss, with the mobile phone number 0-609-3459812, and known for hi

Birthday Boy

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The sound of it wasn't right in his head yet. When he said it aloud he didn't really believe it.

Scandal, in Eight Parking Arrangements

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4. Hers blocking driveway, his diagonal in grass

Desire

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We crept to the edge of the cliff and stared down at Lake Travis. In this alcove, out of the churn of the speedboats and pleasure craft, the water shimmered, impossibly blue. “Didn’t you used to jump off here back when you were getting high?” Ryan said

Oblique in an Acute New Century

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It is a small life, circumscribed/ by debt and income, age and infirmity./ The Hidden Hand thrusts its middle finger/ high.

Parabolic Turns

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There was a man dressed in stately attire. His name was Abacus, which maybe you find strange, but then keep this in mind: it is, after all, just a name.

Old Egg

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He must have been pleased with his composition, as he repeated and repeated and repeated it. Paul joined in the song. Then the children at neighboring tables joined too, until the song rose into a dining hall chorus.

11 Bang-Bang

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The smell of candy and burn... /A patriotic prose poem for the fourth of July.

Arcana Magi Zero - c.1

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The moon is now at the corner on pace for the horizon. On top of a tall business building in Downtown Newark stop a woman in a hood cloak.

Why I Write

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Creep up behind me one day and prick my skin. I promise you won’t draw blood – for it is ink that will spurt from my veins.

Owl, Glass, Deer

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He calls it an owl glass: he’s allowed: he’s six.

Supersymmetric: Almost but not quite

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As black as his socks with a hole in them she used to sew while watching. The octopus has three hearts you know. Yes, No and Maybe. As black as inkpots, inkjets, as black as typewriter ribbons and the Gutenberg press, as black as the ink of a trillion

Not Creative

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a poem about things exploding/burning down/scattering for miles.

Beelzebub

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The jewels were dragonflies, buzzing lazily, Beelzebub’s hair a golden meadow.

Dear Zombie William Carlos Williams,

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If you wanted to retain the ownership of said works, then you should not have died.

New in Town

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He had a handsome dial tone, we called him every name but his.

The Year, In Review

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And him, now there’s a him. I’d like if he were perfect, but perfect things never are. My daughter says it best, when she contrasts the two of you, “Daddy worked to forget about his problems. When he works, it makes him feel like there is a problem.”

The Next Landscape

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The day came shyly up to me like a rolling orange thing. Perhaps of alien origin, but not if the Buddha of our foolish hopeless dreamer inside has anything to say about it. It said, pick me up. I did. It looked like forever on the inviting horizon with trees as…

Tractors

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Beneath their feet bedrock stretched a hundred miles

Misplaced Emotions

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I spent most of those days in my car. Stashed in the trunk was a cache of precious stones, neatly sorted and separated, bound in smooth black velvet inside a smooth black briefcase.

more horrid haiku

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a mere forty years/and maybe you become twelve,/maybe sixty-three.

Pull Another String

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Now as my fearful hand goes unwittingly up I search the faraway trees for the closest possible answer I know I don't know. The clever waiting beast is looking my way with an intelligent roving eye that says he likes to hit. It doesn't matter. You're worse…

March

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The lungs forsake their love of breath. The arms/ resist throwing off the small weight of sheets.

May the Glad Inherit

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All creatures know death at their very core, a tacit default--