1593 5 3
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It was midnight. I was outside the cottage, digging another row of star-shaped holes for the shrubbery.
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I miss Mother gentling the small of my back. She has forgotten me. Her little girl. Whose thumb she fussed over when a rose thorn scratched it and blood spilled like a secret. Whose smile she said was her morning sunshine, whose hug was incense. I yearn for her lips…
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1593 0 0
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Crack open the roof-- raise the battery on a platform with chains
up into the lightning
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1593 0 0
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THE LAST THING I WANTED, expected, or needed was to be standing in the doorway of Carly Ray's room, watching her clutch a picture of her father, my old friend Beryl, up to her face. She is so tiny, but at the same time there is something very adult about the way she looks.…
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unwrapping
the gauze from her wrists....
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After my vasectomy, I got a T-shirt with a picture of an orange on it. It said "All Juice, No Seeds."
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1592 6 3
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N-n-never screamscold a cat.
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my maddening pyromaniac,/ you're burning up my heart/ so open up your broad-toothed mouth/ and let me pour the ashes in.
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I cut myself. Often. The bloodslice like thin lips parted/in prayer.
life’s color drained to ashen/as the old world spins, pirouettes/like a circus dog on the back/of a galloping horse.
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When I first met Luther he was sitting on the sidewalk, his back pushed up against a vacant storefront wall, thumbing through the “help wanted” section of a few-days-old copy of our local paper and I was moved to offer him a couple of dollars for which he said,…
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1592 6 5
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Ivan was used to explosions, but this was high in the sky. He was on his back between tall sunflowers that grew infinitely in all directions. The blast made the flowers bow their heads. Bits of debris fell from the blue sky, some shiny, trailing fire or smoke. The boy…
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1592 7 7
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I wondered if Mr. Slane even knew/
how many dogs he owned
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1592 7 3
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I sat in the dark, mashing damp sand like clumps of brown sugar into my palm while the heavy Gulf air blew my hair into ropes. Sometimes I worried that I was unable to need people, but, as much as the thought upset me, I couldn't make myself truly want t
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1592 0 0
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But here it was, Friday afternoon with Deborah checking MySpace for interesting bulletins or messages before she made some weekend plans, finding a blog from Fred posted that same morning with two simple sentences.
"I know. I've known for a long time.
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She allowed him to wash her hair. Touching it in a wet state, running his hands through it in a soapy state, wringing the water out when he was finished—he was ecstatic.
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1592 9 8
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Everybody called her The Crier because from time to time we would hear her crying.
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1592 0 0
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A Nocturne, whose grey mana seeped out of it mouth, grabbed the roof of the building with its large claws. Using it as leverage, it stood itself up, hunched over, its long whale like head roared like a loud horn.
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1592 4 3
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Her back turned, she wanders off
searching for the way home
wringing her hands,
trying to think, but thoughts
evade her.
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In those years,
you and I were told to leap
for a world suffused with sound
and industry.
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1592 1 2
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What a beautiful day it was, what a wonderful day to lose one's mind. This is what you think going into it, that it is all a wonderful dream come true, and sure I'll have my hands full, but at the end of the day it will be worth something. If I hang in long enough,…
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1592 3 1
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“Let me in,” I begged.
“No. Get back stinky feet.”
“I washed them.”
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1592 4 1
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"His middle name is Valentine, and when asked about it, he isn't sure why."
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I wander toward the midnight dock
a neon sine curve stabs my eyes
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1592 4 3
|
The Rapture comes and goes unannounced in carbonated soda bubbles spicing the air.
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1592 1 1
|
“We know you’re in there, motherfucker. Step out, slowly, and we might keep you fit for an open casket funeral."
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1591 5 5
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Innocent victims know their tonsils. Or know the sound of their forceful removal. Their mangled beauty is the grain that has gracefully substituted all the limb-hacking. The creature used to have a friend whose gestures were very harmless, …
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1591 1 2
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[SOME PEOPLE ARE BETTER THAN OTHERS.]
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Caster had always imagined the Consensus as a big room, as big as the world, filled with white space and people with quantum wings, flitting about, creating information. There were tinted bubbles for people to share for privacy, and the lights never went
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1591 10 6
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1591 14 8
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One of the drunk men, a dear friend, hunk, as he updated me, now living the existence of a poet, called from San Francisco to say he would take the plane to Minneapolis, do it, then leave me to raise the baby.
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