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under your skin the moon is alive
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The way each intersection in a city where you’ve lived a while becomes layered with personal archeology.
The cafe that replaced a liquor store you avoided, and the friend (or lover) you broke up with there,
and the way on the day of the big fire you
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we name invasive species,
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There was a knock at the front door of Apartment Number 9. Ace Quana tried to beat his wiener dog, Little Ace to the door, but he could not. For while Little Ace had stubby legs like wet…
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my molars are dancing, tekka-tekking to the strung-out paint can groove of my heart.
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You think I don't know, that's your whole stupid problem. You don't believe in anyone. You must enjoy living in a dark lonely universe. I don't know if you know or not about the lights that live in your own head, but I believe …
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On our back porch, the tiki torches are lit and so am I.
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She took a deep breath. Last night, she said, Who was the woman?
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The universe will fuck you over in the end./
That’s what it does, what it’s good at—
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“We’re never going to get off the treadmill of paying ever-higher taxes," I said, "unless we get some creative suggestions from a professional bisexual tax advisor.”
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My ChurchThe white dressThe bridesmaidsThe friends, the familySadnessMy church knewno music
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People Who Go to Poems for Truth
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"Sara, do you taketh it with your eyes?"
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. . . he wants to organize society into its most efficient configuration with everyone thinking alike and willingly cooperating. Only then, he believes, can humanity reach its full potential.
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The sighs of the nearby shore came to me through an open window.Wave after gentle wave caressed her broad, sand crusted skin. Mesmerized, I lay still.The in out sound of breathing now filled the room.Your warmth enveloping me like the satin…
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There was all this pomp and circumstance. We were each outfitted with robes, red of course, and mortar-boards with a gold tassel dangling over one eye. It made me positively dizzy. Plus I was extremely hung-over that day.
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The man had decided that this was going to be his last day. He’d find out one final thing and he’d be done. He had spent the last few years of his life unwinding things that had been wound and untying knots that had been tied.
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Nothing is ever hoarded in our house, everything is eaten.
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We will collapse in a storm of images
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They were just boys, the Nazis I mean, young in their twenties, not much older than my brother Cyril.
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He is leaning back against a pillar watching the dancing; a spectator to joy – both planned and spontaneous – that’s unfolding in bodies fourteen and fifteen years old in front of him.
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Tender bodies sizzle on the grill.
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I stole forth dimly in the dripping pause
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The building ejects my condominium like an enormous videocassette.
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I imagine you in the States,
pushing stacks of work papers and our memories
to the side, sense your enjoyment that
you won’t see the worry of your
behavior reflected in my eyes again.
That you can buy and bang and be
whomever you want,
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It was uncomfortable to realize people had agendas. That there could be invisible realities.
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In the panic following news of my motorcycle crash, my honey fled the house without coat or wallet, and now, nearly midnight, we don’t even have cab fare home.
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The email landed in his inbox.He'd been staring at the empty screen for a while now even though, really, he hadn't been expecting anything to arrive, yet there it was.He sat and stared, not daring to click it. He knew he shouldn't have sent a mail in the first place. He…
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