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All the Young Angel Heads

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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 A sad boy doesn't just die inside, slowly, he becomes withdrawn from certain types of lovely youthful reasoning out loud, accustomed to feeling what is expected, graded, just to be allowed to survive another…

Hope's Amanuensis

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I was low on carburetor / oxygen and my fraud protection / had just expired.

Bag

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No chance for Hallo, we sank into an unlit station doorway and he fumbled through my shorts.

Forty Two

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The gate squeaked, the gravel shuffled and the letterbox clattered as February 14th's mail cascaded to the ground.

The Commodore

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The commodore drives a 67 Caddy rag top All fin and boatish power

Lord of the Poets

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I almost caught a poet today.

Andy on Bloomsday

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I wonder if regular nonfashion clothes are out forever, if these kids will ever dress normally like, you know, Phil Donahue, again.

Happy New Year's

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Start white flour diet.

formation of a black hole

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who can quite say/when careless talk & confidence/slips into that other charged thing/so minimal at first

Afternoon Chores

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She is trying to quit—nasty habit this smoking. Still, this is the only time she lets herself smoke these days: Laundry day.

Old Houses

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The rocking chair will bite your toes.

on the shore on the shore

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I await, here at Sandymount Strand / There's a stony bed and moistened sand / Couples dance away into futurity / With their dogs upon the shore

Winter Paints Nelson County

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It was more than just taste/ more than a point of view/ and oil and pigment/ that painted a store front church/ a box with a cross in a vacant lot/ that welcomed desperation, faith/ and imagination.

The Weight of a Gun

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The first time I ever held a gun, I was three years old...

When The Sun Goes Down

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Though his heart aches his melody seems to flow It creeps into the dreams of all in slumber in the valley below

Koch Brothers

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When Chuck dies, I’ll throw/ a party and dance, a little drunk,/ across what I’ll pretend/ is the old shit’s grave.

Fine, she said

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A rope is cleaner, he explains with a straight face. He's calmed by the visual.

Sacre Something

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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.

Chancing the Moonglow

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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…

All These Poets

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All these poets with their wrinkled hands full of freshly poured over poems are driving me into the dried wheat fields like a black block of crows. Offering a collectable cigarette, they light the damned thing with another hand-rolled poem,…

Story by Committee

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The past has no flavor.

Walking On Air

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Nik Wallenda was going to walk a wire stretched from Sarasota Bay across US 41 to a condo on Gulf Stream Drive.

Man Writing Story With Ears Plugged About Painter Who Only Hears in Color; Black Ink, 2002

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Ready, here we go.

Luminous Nights, 5

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It turned out that my brother's newly acquired building in downtown Pasadena, was what developers called a "see-through" building. That meant you could look from one side of the building all the way through to the other side, without obstruction. In oth

The Caselvetrano Olive

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He spotted her in Sarasota Whole Foods surveying the artichokes

Annals of the Naked Rowdies #13

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It worked for a short time and their next album, "The Hirsute Agenda" became an underdog success.

Balm (excerpt)

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my second language / to silence / plainsong of / the breast

Things As They Really Are

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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…

Poet's Offer to Help Grieving Goes Unheeded

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Remembering you is easy We do it every day, When little Mike and Joey Ask when the hell is Daddy ever coming home to play?

Magdalena

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Magdalena followed the receding tide, her tiny feet leaving no rumors in the hard sand. She gathered only the most beautiful shells and presented them to her waiting Abuela. Her grandmother told her that the only things that a woman truly owns are her dreams. She told her…