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Sleeping late in Cahuita, Costa Rica

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The light of day is screaming, shook by the calls of howler monkeys, their low roar hanging in the salt, in the black sand riding the wind, as Playa Negra outstretches its infinite arms.

cross-quarter days

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sentinels in a frost-blackened field

The Cactus

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Each evening the man allowed himself an hour of fresh air. He and Prickles would situate themselves on the tiny balcony overlooking the same street, a blanket bundled around them both for warmth. These were the times he liked to talk to Prickles the most

String Money

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I said hey man, how you doin’? He looked up and nodded but his shades flashed and I couldn’t see his eyes.

Mommy

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I miss her.

What I Learned From Magazines This Week

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In his heyday, Burt Reynolds owned $100,000 worth of custom-made toupees.

Archaeology

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I would like to go back (with spade, pick, soft bristles), and sift through time and layers, brush away the intervening years, and find: the tooth, knocked out by my then best friend, when we were seven, careening downhill in my father's wheelbarrow on Boscobel…

Postcard from Shambhala

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Dearest Z— There is no way to describe this place. It is a pendulum, caught at mid-swing or maybe just a millimeter on the up side. It is a sense of sweeping, a cleanness. Distant clouds remind me of the day we took the train and the mountains acted petulantly,…

mermaid tale

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your words that came crashing over me/ so cold the clear shock was like salt water

My Name is Luka

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The first and easiest reason was that he never hit me. Well, if he never hit me, then how could it possibly be abuse? Never mind the threats to stab me in the neck. He was only angry. He really didn't mean that. Never mind he restrained me, or cornered me

Your Depression On Replay

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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.

The Adversary

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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

Three Times, If I Count

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Once or twice, it was only once or twice. Three times, if I really count. And I wasn't giving or loving. And my self stayed hidden and I kept most of my clothes on.

The Night

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Meanwhile stars continue to surprise...

Click

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I am going to quit clicking refresh, only because it is clear nothing is happening out there. After I click refresh just one more time, that is, and then I am closing the window. After clicking one more last time. …

Daily Living

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When we are given eternity, as a night is eternal

The first sense of desire

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I want to own you, even if it is only for a few moments or a few hours, but it will not be worth it unless for that brief span of time I know that the only purpose of your existence is to be a woman whom I own.

Love Las Muertas

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a dozen girls with Encarnación's face flit past, whispering kisses along the part of my hair, tickling their hems along the cuticles of my nails.

It is Midnight

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It is midnight in Utah, but I can’t tell. It always looks like midnight in a cave.

Storms

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Sirens wake me, screaming warnings in the dark.

Beachcomber's dirge

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...clash of gulls wend upwards, disappearing into grey night's high tide recedes

Johnny

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He also had OCD. He had to kick every dog he met. Johnny killed a lot of dogs and was bitten by many others. He was a cruel bastard.

A Serial Killer’s First Day in Medical School

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To rival the professor in his knowledge of various body parts is impossible ...

I Dated A 50 Foot Woman

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There was no need to drive. She could travel ten miles in ten minutes. She merely had to be careful not to step on any cars or trucks.

Zaire

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The dictator, what'sisface, was crazy nuts.

Blue Moon

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I suppose it was inevitable, This crashing of souls, This recognition of possibility to create. If we were younger, We would make a baby, The ultimate act of faith. Now it has to be something else, Nothing to force a track with night feedings, …

This Is How You Make The Bed

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He disrobes; shoes, socks, shirt, belt, pants. He smells of hard work. The nude whisper of everything else.

Acapella

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Its odors of quicklime/ and pyre-smoke will curl/ commingled in acrid air.

Sort of Like Bukowski, But Completely Oblivious

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My eyes don’t close but hers are shut tight, and something inside tells me that to this girl, I could be absolutely anyone.

#32: Deep in Structures of Awareness (Structured Poem)

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In ashen hills of yonder