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The world doesn'tend just becauseyou want it to.Bonus poems:The Poet(Series 1)by Darryl PricePoet in a TreeYeah, well, it's not up here either. Although the everything and nothing view is nice. Only because it doesn't have any abandoned cars in it. I'm…
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"Middle class workers and working class poor and the unemployed will soon be forming a revolutionary movement to break this stranglehold of corrupt elites."
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Outside it’s still raining. We’ve gone through three cans of Guinness each. I’m waiting for drunkenness to germinate so that I can take him home and fondle what I imagine will be a very slim dick. A Slim Jim. When I chuckle to myself, he thinks I’m still
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When Frank entered Michiko’s apartment, Michiko was not there.
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The next day we were sitting at that same outdoor café on the square, trying to savor a peaceful meal of duck plucked fresh from the Vltava River, when the very same waiter passed by and said, “Bet you wish you had some peeg now, no?” There were camer
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Hissing through the opening, the spirits have no place.
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Juan’s tío, Richard, who works for the city and is the kind of Mexican who thinks he isn’t, took care of the lawyer. Juan checks himself in the mirror, didn’t know how good dressing fancy would feel.
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Suppose Eve, strolling through the sunlit Garden, had not stumbled on that particular Tree at all, the wily serpent twined in its lower branches?
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A year ago, my neighbor was a sexy graduate student in fashion design, sounds perhaps shabby, yet if it is, then we in the Middle West are all shabby. That girl's father graduated from high school with Bob Dylan in Hibbing, not entitling her to a child.
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Today clouds were dancing on the moon
Moon had a fit but drew in a breath
And let out a sigh
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His face was creased with sadness the first time in the room and he danced his tai chi like a young man half his age, and laughed, like headtrippers do, from the neck up.
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Eat me so I can sink in your mouth, my paper fraying along the sharp topography of your tongue, lodging in the holes where your teeth used to be. There, I will storm an infection until your mouth inks my words.
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faith in gravity/permitted them to extol/the guillotine's blade.
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Two angels walk in a dark cloud arm in arm
discussing the nature of good and evil
Walking along in flowing robes now that nakedness
is forgot, and they both stare at the same eternal thought
with their heads bowed as serenity is the only thing
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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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1531 0 0
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Gravity? What does that have to do with writing or with this improbable tether of blue marbles?
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“I would like to keep my head, at least for a few more nights. Didn't you say we were gonna have sex one of these days? Isn't that in the manual?”
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We are young
That’s all we’ve got
We take drugs
We smoke pot
You got mugged
And I got shot
We are young
That’s all we’ve got
I want you to love me like it’s midnight
Midnight, midnight
Yeah, your mama wants you home
But she knows
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Buyers of freelance writing have a well-deserved reputation for responding slowly, thereby increasing your pleasure in much the same way that the Pointer Sisters longed for a slow hand.
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1531 6 5
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What a nation!
First we lost our money
Now we’ve lost our funny
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Erased. Like chalk across my body,
a fine powder of forgetfulness,
with a few swipes --- all those names
and faces, gone. The letters burned.
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It was all things considered a particularly odd sight, which Annalise did not know how to handle.
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1530 2 0
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A university student who triggers a flash mob in the heart of Silicon Valley to prove her hacking creds finds herself in deep trouble when the colorful members of Anonymous Hackers prove their hacking creds to her.
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People Who Go to Poems for Truth
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Her cash. It smelled like seven-dollar-a-quart gardenia perfume and cave aged cheese—like hope overgrown with mildew.
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“Life is on life’s terms,” she told me once. Her arm, wrapped in clear cellophane, was freshly adorned with a green-pigmented sand-dollar: a living shell.
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We pull up chairs. I breathe in her Bath and Body Works vanilla, read her paper slowly and aloud because the ears catch what the eyes miss. Her sentences are awkward, stilted.
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TV and power cord valorized in dust,/
wires and digital guts unimpaired, I’d guess . . .
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