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When To Wear Mascara

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it's time for the cold, antiseptic cloth to briskly remove the evidence.

Silver Spring to Phoenix

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Vibrations of a cavern a mile beneath silver willows.At two in the morning beyond the Sheratona lumination of pollution intercedes realism.Cardinals and doves develop their melodyprogressively caught in beat/heart echoes,as with spelunker canaries fluting noxious gasa small…

The Judas Horse

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Mark dressed the velvet red Stetson, too big for his head, like a dandy. A six year old savior with fringe on his pockets flapping as he, the ‘Judas horse’ led me ’round back

Combinatorics

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“I'm thinking about math class,” she said. “The solution to three factorial.” “Easy,” Leo said.

Winter's Presence 2010

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A short triangular plastic shovels into the/White plastic container filled with topaz crystal-like/Salt granulars. Scratchy sandy sounds echo.

Crack in the Cosmos

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There’s a crack in the cosmos, and pink is leaking through. There’s a crack in the cosmos, fix the sink, the toilet leak. There are many cracks in the cosmos, numerous. This is how time escapes. Good grief, they’re going to suck the cream

My Poetic Nemesis

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Except for the bathroom stalls—you know the one that goes “Here I sit all broken-hearted”—the only poetry in the house is composed by Hazel, recited to her fawning sycophants.

Liz

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I catch a glimpse of myself in the small mirror on the adjacent wall and find myself becoming shy at my own reflection, which is ludicrous in theory, shying away from oneself, but as I lock onto the few freckles I have spread neatly on both cheeks...

12.22.12

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No jagged bits of crust were thrust up/ through the prairie’s black gumbo/ to give us cataclysmic mountain views.

Points of Light on A Pearl Line 1

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Directions: Match the stanza to the Beat icon: A. William S. Burroughs B. Peter Orlovsky C. Jack Kerouac D. Carl Solomon E. Allen Ginsberg F. Neal Cassidy

Ring, Ring, Ring

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If this is trouble, please call someone else.

Bye-bye Love

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Barbie wore only her clear pink heels...

Helen of the Poetry World

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That night we went out to shoot some pool at the pool hall over on Durant Avenue, which was above a bar called Kip’s. Rotten Bobby walked in with his own damn pool cue, which came broken down in two pieces. He carried it in a narrow felt-lined carrying

A Speck of Light

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That’s true, you know, what they said about the drummer and spontaneous combustion.

Blizzard on 105th Street

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severe snow storm coming. I'm looking for a parking spot and listening to Machito & Charlie Parker

The Land Collector

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He liked owning acreage.

The River Where His Lover Lay

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“He put his stuff down—sunglasses, lotion and so forth—and I noticed there’s a little notebook that he didn’t have before.‘What’s that?’” I asked, and he said ‘Nothing.’”

we're already at the movies

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israeli flares light gaza/ casting incandescent nudity/ upon jumbled puzzle piece buildings.

9/11

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He laughs and runs just like the other boys even though he doesn’t have a father now, just his mom.

Yellow Dining Room (from The New Yorker)

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...you should pick a VERY OLD millionaire. Very old, and NOT VERY WELL...

Burning Trash

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Boys start fires all the time— it's a rite of passage— so when your father gives you the task of setting fire to the family's trash, you don't mind, and when the flames ignite inside the old dishwasher he heaved into the woods behind the house, you…

The Diaphragm

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They had a deal, she reminded him. If he didn’t want to wear a condom all the time, he’d have to help with her birth control.

Book Review: Cinema Verite’ a book of poems by Sam Rasnake

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Cinema Verite’ is the best book of poems I have encountered since Matthea Harvey’s Modern Life

Mountains

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Bow Ties & Brooklyn Dressing

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collars of obedience / discarded in the pyre / with draft cards and bras

The Jaws of Life

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You’ve known her since grade school and even though you’ve never copped a feel, it gave you a strange chill when you heard boys talking about her breasts, pressing against madras or chamois with some devilish life force, or how one day she’ll fuck l

Arcana Magi Memorial Vol.3 - c.1

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It was like Azure was dictating the tempo of a song. Fluid in motion, and a story told.

Fanmail to Ellen Page

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You and I will never meet. You will never even know I existed. Even in dreams you will never imagine me. Someone told me once that your sleeping mind cannot conjure up new faces. It just spits out all the ones you’ve ever seen and that’s it. That’s it.

Peter's Office

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This is Peter’s office. The room is small, and the wood paneling is painted white. Light colors, Peter has been told, make a room appear larger.

Kickstand

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Past the pavilion, past the factory, past the underside of the bridge where the surfers jimmy their sloppy fingers over the oil barrels.