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Last Words

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I met Barry Hannah once in my life. I’d come to Oxford, MS, to meet an entirely different writer whom I thought then and think now very highly of. I’d also come to escape from another slew of regrets. Oxford is a great city to run away to.

What I Am

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I am a happy cog

Is This Is The End

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Tell them words are math counting forever four letters of truth

Pre-determination

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She never saw me pull the wings off live flies or throw wood lice in the fire just to see them shrivel, drown a beetle in a stream of warm pee.

So Few Dreams

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So few dreams are the doors they seem.

The Kept Man

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If the Titanic rises from the bottom of the sea, I will meet you on deck, in a deck chair. Fully dressed for a change.

Ode To Poetry Slams

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It is a dark and stormy night, naturally We’re trying to get some sleep at a Travelodge in Eureka when I get up at 3 a.m. to write “Hard motel pillow receives snoring from neighboring room” O Thesaurus, we need another word Maybe it sh

How Would Jesus Drive?

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Contemporary persecution of Christians takes on milder forms of torture like having to explain away something Pat Robertson said, or constantly having to hear about Fred Phelps picketing funerals because he happens to hate homosexuals.

Shakespeare's Dark Lady -- John Hudson (review disguised as fiction)

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William Shakespeare (a surname that meant "wanker" back in the day, by the way)

Wandering the Streets of Fitzrovia

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I’m deathly afraid of the pub crawls of my ancestors, through Bohemia and Fitzrovia because of the ghosts of alcohol already etched inside my veins and the headlong loss of oxygen

Valhalla After Dark

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In traffic I cry bloody murder, but my bloodlust subsides once I'm in Valhalla. Chip Whitehead wants to see me on the 22nd floor before I start my shift. Charlie and the other suits have been looking at me funny since I sent Chip a memo suggesting the recession…

Liking in "The Scarlet Letter"

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like the dome of an immense lamp like blades of grass at the sweep of the scythe like a line of cliffs against a tempestuous tide

Final Phases of a Secret Love

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I keep my love for you in me, / like the egg of a worm,

SNAFU (March Paddy Whacker Challenge)

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The unpublished writer remembered the carnage that surrounded his Foxhole in France and decided he was done praying. All around lay the evidence that no one was listening. The drunken pastor stumbled away.

Taking A Walk

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13 rooks on a lifeless tree

Mausoleum

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you might as well be blind

The Chords are Clean, the Growl is Real

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"Good, it's Link Wray again,"

I Am Speckles the Clown

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Food is silly. Eating is silly. Yet the camaraderie of sharing a table is not silly. It is sacred. It becomes silly when the jello arrives.

Parts

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Trigger warning: casualties of war.

A Place in the Sun

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What grabbed the mind when you heard about it was the way he did it.

HOUSE OF DREAMS

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Something was changing. We could sense it in the circling air. A loss of stillness - and we'd been still for so long.

The Eric Dolphy Marching Band

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My wife storms into the kitchen with a pink mako shark slung over her shoulder, barking "Dinner!" towards me as I sit on the counter swishing my middle finger through a bowl of sand.

Arcana Magi Pure Vol.2 - c.4

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Mayumi could see as far as her eyes could, all the buildings hugged by the trees. Roads stretching outward as if reaching for something far away.

Hobby Lobby

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In human rights, a man and a woman may marry and bring forth a family. It is a civil right in the U.S. but not a human right (as far as I know) to raise a child singly without the knowledge of the other parent.

The Monolingual’s Regret

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Polylinguists lash me with tongues I cannot conjugate

THANKSGIVIKAH

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It was a dark and stormy night.

Birth of a Tiger

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He was instantly on her, pulling at her nightgown

13 machines from the Bird King's private collection

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1. The sparrows' heads revolve slowly when you press the red button, but the boxing glove attachments don't work.2. A weird weaving of voices, unmusical harmony. One phrase punctures the texture: “The empty slot.”3. Poems are processed into more useful verbal…

My Brain is a Pre-Historic Babe Magnet

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Ug seemed kinda down in the dumps so, uncharacteristically for a male hominid, I asked him why he looked so glum. “Ug no find nice girl,” he said, poking a stick in the dirt.

The Need To Tell Somebody

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He just had to tell somebody. Anybody. So he called up his publisher, L., who agreed to meet him at Oliveira’s for a drink. It only took about ten minutes to walk there from his big duplex in the Elmwood, where he was still living with his wife among