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At times we rarely desire to be where we are at home quite as much as we desire to be where we are no longer.
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for my father I want to memorize this our time together — what we did without her there to tell me You wouldn't want this life you're not cut out for it — and me the child…
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“You shouldn’t have gone inside,” he said, after she told him what had happened. “I know that’s what you’re used to doing here, with people we know. But he’s not from around here. Don’t go back over there, okay?”
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Mice dreams are a reality ...
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A small poem about incipient insanity
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I don't think you understand. A sad boy doesn't just die inside, slowly, he becomes withdrawn from certain types of lovely youthful reasoning out loud, accustomed to feeling what is expected, graded, just to be allowed to survive another…
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sometimes i have to be in the other room
just so i can breathe easy away from you.
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It is not unusual for farmers to see the future before it’s begun—but I am not speaking here only of the need to hope but more. . . .
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They followed the crow up a hill, where lights were at its brightest below. The teens stood frozen in time.
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This liberated you/
to grind me hard/
on the dance floor
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One cold winter's day she met what she thought was the love of her life. He had everything going for him but his age. You see the sweet young thing was a lot younger than her. One might say that she had lived many lives before he had been born.
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She was dressed to seduce one man: Francesco Martinelli.
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“You haven’t been listening, have you.”
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I was, so I was told, the product of much hard work and a lot of invasive procedures. Initially, I'm sure my parents were making love, but then came the slog, the repeated failed attempts at getting one of mother's millions of eggs fertilized. Those tadpoles just couldn't…
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I thought I would write a poemAbout a saguaro trying to please God The saguaro would spend a hundred yearsGrowing an arm and offering flowers in its fist —God barely notices. The saguaro flowers a crown for God.More arms. God then loses his patience…
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1562 5 5
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In an authentic Irish pub in Las Vegas where over much crowd noise the three of us are discussing Yeats, Joyce and Lady Gregory. We’re in an Irish pub after all, plus the fact we’re literature profs attending a Vegas academic conference.
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He knows why I’m here, so he stalls, talking about the coffee, about how it’s a new dark blend from a little shop in The Village, about how he loves the flavor, so rich, but just because a coffee is dark doesn’t mean it’s stronger, that, in fact, it’s the
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1562 5 5
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When Carol complained about a pain in her back, Frank didn't think much about it. Her back—especially her shoulders—hurt most of the time he'd known her, almost fifteen years, from sitting in front of a computer all day. It was an old story. “But …
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I left the train, still going nowhere, but in a hurry.
Still a boy, but trapped in a suit.
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This morning, my band mates discussed their relationship deal breakers.
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There was no one there, but the smell of cooked bacon permeated the hall, triggering borborygmus in his stomach. He loved that word, but not his empty stomach.
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This artist has a wonderful sense of line and color. Abstract is not my métier, but I appreciate the art behind this painting. It helps to copy it. You sleep with it for a time and, like a woman, you learn her passions and taboos.
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Don and I return to Rasheed's room on the top floor of the middle house where Uzma sits waiting to speak her piece. I'm feeling blessed listening to their enthusiastic chatter. It's like the world is opening up to me again, allowing me to experience a rush of…
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1562 2 2
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But when the KGB went out the castle window, what a surprise was waiting for them. Because we had lined the pit with a huge dung heap, and camouflaged it with a colored pink wrapping as if it were feathers, just like Cristo had done. We wrapped the shit p
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1562 4 3
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Some guys ride hills up and down,
Then stop to terrorize small towns.
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Our painter man was killed by a bunch of snotty kids who were making fun of him. A gun went off. What is a noodle to do? He wasn't sitting alone in his world, anymore. Where was his famous straw hat? His trusty pipe? He desperately needed to smoke…
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Life is not always quixotic.
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"I was born very far from where I'm supposed to be. And so I'm on my way home."--Bob Dylan I don't owe you anything. If I'm a recluse what does it have to do with you? I have the right to be poor. Some things cannot be explained away by letters that…
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I'm using a 16mm motion picture camera with sound on film, equipped with a magazine holding six hundred feet, giving me approximately fifteen minutes of continuous shooting. Uzma has changed her cloths again. She's dressed for working in the garden, wearing a white…
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