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People Who Go to Poems for Truth

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People Who Go to Poems for Truth

Windows

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The Kid, The Executive, The Doctor, and The Actress.

My Latest Failure

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Jason, the obnoxious host, thrusts his microphone against my nose.

The Mix Tape

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I made her a mix tape. It was revolutionary. Twenty-two songs she had to hear at least once in her life. I even drew some trippy drug-like designs on the label of the CD to make it seem more real. It was the ocean and the sun and every body of land balled up…

Letter to a Lost Friend

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I keep attempting to start a correspondence with people / but they end up not being interested in me, / either that or I scare them away / because I usually begin with: / “Well, my favorite philosopher is Hegel..."

It Isn’t Personal. It’s Business

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because you pay/ for it to matter to me.

Brothers of the Sacred Circle: A Prayer to Ares

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When our body falters, deny us rest. When our minds crack under the strain, forbid us sanity. When we are too tired to fight give us war.

Greener Than Thou: Saving the Earth, One Smackdown At A Time

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Are you a hostile person who gets into trouble when you express your anger? Would you like to annoy the hell out of people and get away with it?

The Train

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"You'll be alright! Just pinch your nose!"

Seven Forever

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It was my fault.

Summer, 1995.

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I am no different to her, living seven days ahead of myself, looking forward to looking back, as we Irish do so fondly

needs

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addict for validation and cat tongues

Blackout

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The blackout lasted longer than anyone thought. From my fifth story window, the whole city seemed to shut down. I heard noises above me. How could it be?

Moon Backstory

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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

Four Quarters for a Dollar Moon

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There's a large tunnel that runs under my house. I can only estimate but it's not deep below the ground and that's what worries me.

A Change in Status on the Facebook of Cement

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First he wrote it in wet cement at the intersection: “Tad Loves Kimberley,” with a big heart around it. He was real proud, you could see. But then later on that year, the graffiti began appearing everywhere, on all the store walls: “Kimberle

next love letter

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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.

Why We're Going to Eat Uncle John's Suicide for Breakfast, Tomorrow

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[Party!]

The Facts of This Life as Its End Approaches

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The knees remind you: you are old,/ and broken, and unlikely to improve

Far As You Want

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At a rest stop in Montpelier, they stopped to buy Cokes and gum from the vending machines. He was showing off, trying to jimmy one of the locks with a safety pin but it stayed locked and she laughed at him and he said goddamn, look at all a them Milkyways

Blackish by Reason of the Ice

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"Sara, do you taketh it with your eyes?"

Mother O'Grady's Last

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Christmas night was closing in at the Cantrips alehouse in Aberdeen, a firm favourite for riggers and other men and women who lived life close to the horizon. Sometimes, on a Saturday night, things might get a bit rowdy but Mother O'Grady would stand firm and bring out…

A Scalar Boson a Day

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. . . the empiricism of the mechanical had wound tight into her, lessons her few calendars could never impart without aid from sundials, hourglasses, clocks.

At the Reception

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"Check out these dudes,” he says. “They're all wearing kilts. Not that there's anything wrong with that, as long as they're wearing underwear.

1888: Mrs. Sherwood

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Margaret will take her seven away from his raging Irish hammers slurry Saturday night honks smashing red eyes. They'll board a secret train countryside bound where they sing the songs of her own dead Mam who lived poor in the world but…

The Secret of Belief

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I don't believe in symbols but there's a hole in my living room window in the shape of a bird

Winter '69

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One minute Rudy was sitting up close to me, asking me how could Geppetto make a little boy out of a piece of wood, and the next, Steve was pounding up the stairs, yelling, "Carla, get blankets, warm clothes; we're leaving, we won't be back."

news through a window

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TV and power cord valorized in dust,/ wires and digital guts unimpaired, I’d guess . . .

Swimming Lessons

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I’m from the Land of Sky Blue Waters. I grew up in a lake. I think I’m half fish.

Migrants

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She is too stylish to be crazy, is what the migrant probably thinks. And he's right.