1503 3 2
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Lama’s mother is dead. She died when Lama was just outgrowing her ballet tutus. When Lama talks about it, it is with the air of one who picks honeysuckle over jasmine. It gives sunshine, she says, to graves. Our epitaphs are so mechanical otherwise.
Un
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1503 10 9
|
I offer you a peanut butter sandwich full of unconditional love
and you say I'm being controlling, so I let you eat cake, eat cake.
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1503 4 4
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I slide my CD toward Eric Burdon who sits, smiling and gracious and fatigued from Seattle traffic, at the table at Silver Platters, where I have just purchased ‘Til Your River Runs Dry, and stood in a line of old gray heads to have him sign it. I remove my hat and…
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1503 1 1
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Set your three-word story in prison.
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1503 0 0
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A tanka poem about Jolly Old Nick being black as hell.
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1502 1 0
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My first abroad journey completed. A picturesque way to end it all, really. I’m into that, I think to myself: making things play like movies or dramas or as beautifully as I can make them.
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1502 7 7
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It's become sort of a habit now when Elsie's husband is away on business two or three times a month that we take the afternoon off and drive nine miles across the river to Marginalia, Arkansas and the Moonglow Motel with its red, neon vacancy sign and although to some, two…
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1502 4 1
|
"I am lying on my back and am confused."
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1502 0 0
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She wheeled more deeply into the office towards Mason’s desk. Keith hurried to the desk and pulled the chair out of the way for her and a sat down next to her. She was blue-eyed, pale and completely hairless, which made it difficult to guess her age.
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1502 2 2
|
The streets downtown belong to the people. The people wanted greater transparency. They wanted Mayor Abok to be straight and narrow with them. They wanted their streets to be level and safe to drive their vehicles on. They wanted their streets to be usefu
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1502 9 8
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Regret takes the shape of little clouds ...
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1502 2 1
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"That zit on your forehead just won't go away, will it, sweetie?" she adds as she brushes her daughter's bangs downward.
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1502 2 1
|
I am exceeded / by a leaf
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1501 5 5
|
and pressed an area
on my forehead
between my eyes
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1501 10 5
|
The washing machine at home was broken. It was an old leaky Maytag. A discouraging mess—twisted panties, sky-blue jeans, and an old lover or two or three floating downstream (the reverse of spawning salmon). Each man was slightly drowned,…
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1501 15 11
|
sentinels in a frost-blackened field
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1501 2 1
|
Ben was dreaming of sex with Claudia. But, in his dream, he could hear Dan Arris calling his name and pounding on a door. The fear of Dan Arris was pushing out the delights of Claudia.
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1501 2 1
|
if you don't quiver with anticipation you'll barely manage to explode
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1501 0 0
|
At night, he saw the commercial, the same one every time: the Watson’s girl, mascot for her father’s pool, spa, and billiards business. The Watson’s girl was a veteran at this, the same one from his youth, the one whose heart-shaped face and cleavage the
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1501 1 0
|
Desire stirred into the liquid reveals
Cold ice smoking colder,
As you pipet these channels of my heart.
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1501 3 4
|
Ascent/Assent
Together the horizon/
Catechism of love
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1501 4 2
|
"Mama skipped the training bras and just gave me her old bras. I'll be 25 before I can wear her old bras..."
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1501 6 6
|
He thought she should have come with an owner’s manual
So he would know how to operate the equipment
It was definitely more than he bargained for
Or knew how to handle
She was too hot
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1501 6 4
|
Poetry is conceit; emotional, intellectual or technical.
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1501 4 2
|
Dandelions wither as I approach and the grass dies under my feet.
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1501 10 5
|
“Now,” my friend said. “Tell us about earthquakes. Can we expect one anytime soon?”
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1501 3 2
|
Boil (n.)––1. Pus-filled pustule inflammation of the skin, usually painful. 2. Slang boiled pus, bucket of (n. phrase)“Your asshole brain is a bucket of boiled pus.” (see also pus, SCOTTISH derogatory term for face.
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1500 0 0
|
Mort’s hand-mind suffered electrifying-absence-emptiness; no wife.
|
1500 0 0
|
When He had built the Universe, there was no greater joy in putting it together. The angels themselves were perfect constructs of concept and design, embodiment of breathing principle over particle waves. They each had their purpose; each mortar or a supp
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1500 13 8
|
Spying is a different concern. Privacy also. I feel there is a loss of privacy just in believing or realizing it is possible; our forebears did not experience loss of privacy digitally, perhaps in another way.
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