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Mon wakes up surrounded by trees. The light is grey, the trunks black.How long have I slept? he wonders.He doesn't know which way to walk. In every direction, the same prospect of trees. He looks up at a blank sky. No sign even of the sun.***He starts walking. Slowly,…
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and where have the years sped
how distant was your youth
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He spotted her in Sarasota Whole Foods surveying the artichokes
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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.
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It was an eagle in the waves
Those eyes make no mistake
Especially from a mile high
Blue fish and tuna
Too dumb to run
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She thinks this is the place she dreamed
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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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The Star Trek marathon ends, and he flips channels. An episode of Full House is on. The cheesy plot lines and attractive women (specifically, DJ Tanner in the late seasons) have become a freakish comfort.
In today's episode, the Tanners are baby sitt
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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
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Michiko stood in front of Steinway Hall on West 57th Street.
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"Look Emily, I’m charging your solar powered calculator and helping you relieve your dependence on foreign oil."
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After the Tokyo experience, Frank and Michiko decided that when she went on extended tours, Frank would accompany her.
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In and out of morphine dreams, he flies through the unfinished roof of Illinois sky. Below, matchbox-sized farm machines. A silo becomes his father's thermos, the silver-capped tower from which he stole sips at ten, his first secret. Back …
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Her voice gets screechy as she talks of the boy he was caught fondling in the bathroom of a bowling alley. The worst part: the dumb schmuck doesn’t even bowl.
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We'll all face the raging river, some sooner than others.
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Baby Teak can access Wikipedia by rubbing two xylophone mallets together.
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I wrote her a poem.She said, “I hate poetry.” I said, “OK, just read the words then."
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A cheap pocket knife was the only sharp I carried in my backpack and they allowed me that. The man with the pot tattoo on his neck said, “All of us here needs some type of knife. You gotta cut up your food. We don't…
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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.
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INSTRUCTIONS: To all students, please address your index card: "To the Finder of this Balloon." Beneath that, write something that will encourage the finder to email you back. Then tape the index card to your balloon's string.Happy Ballooning! To the Finder…
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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.
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I will show you how, in the spring,
the sidewalks here
look like a crossword puzzle resting under
a glass of lemonade,
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This poem first appeared in “Walt’s Corner” of The Long Islander, founded by Walt Whitman in 1838.
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Suddenly I'm not feeling it anymore. /
Poetry has become insufficient. /
I can't do it like I used to.
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I know someone in need of healing.
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The parrots woke Eddie up. That and Rocker snoring in the twin bed. A thousand parrots flying over the motel? They squawked, God how they…
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As air warms and warm/
winds stir, green becomes the force/
that surges the plains.
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’m sure they have their/
cleverest working on it, though.
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“If your work is good you will get published. Just keep at it."
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