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A New York Moment

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Harvey C. Hamby was drunk. Usually he held his liquor well, but tonight he was off his form. Stumbling over an ottoman, he landed on the floor in a sodden sprawl. As he fell, his left foot shot out behind him and socked Glenda Steinberg in…

Friends

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I reach out and grab a can of soup with each hand and spin them around to dive into this much-heralded sodium situation. It's a landslide. I almost smile as I put low sodium back and continue to hold tightly onto regular.

Putting the Damage On

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My Thursday head belonged to a former Miss Brazil named Rita.

The Winter's Too Warm for Bears to Sleep

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The winter’s too warm for the bears to sleep, and they get up in the middle of the night with insomnia and wander about the streets in their pajamas, knocking over garbage cans, looking for a midnight snack of some kind. They’re getting kind o

Bedtime Stories

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I want to read a story that ends unhappily ever after: one where the bad guy wins and no one gets the girl.

Boil

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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.

trenton

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his word

The Forsaken

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Every town has one. Or one at the very least...

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

Privacy

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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.

Recipe for the Broken

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This poem first appeared in “Walt’s Corner” of The Long Islander, founded by Walt Whitman in 1838.

Bio Bit

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It was your present world that seemed more than mad to me. Your polished stiff brown shoes that always squeaked like mice, while the latest rude Bombers bubbled up in their comfortable Dart-board garages like apple pies…

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 23

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After the Tokyo experience, Frank and Michiko decided that when she went on extended tours, Frank would accompany her.

The Bird Nests of Lascaux

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With their brightly-colored bits of found string woven into the walls of their nests to teach their baby birds what the worms of the future will look like. Somewhat like the cave paintings of Lascaux for early man in France, when hunti

Death by Dinner

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I can't believe it's Frankie, but there he is at a table on the far side, just in front of the big picture window. I hold the menu close to my face and peek again over the top, watching as he reaches under the white linen tablecloth to plant…

Folk Music Returns to Roots, But Some Try to Keep Them Buried

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“Sandy likes the way Bob spanks, when he’s done she gives him thanks."

Peanut Time

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A peanut, who knoweth

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.

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, …

Love Story

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You are a warm winter Despite the presence of snow

Assiduity Twenty One

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Blue skies greet us as we exit the forest . . .

Oh Portland.

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The purple sweater brought out the blue in her eyes. Fantastic eyes made of ice, she was a stunner, and she knew it. I met her at Slabtown

Sheep

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Sheep are very philosophical, I hear. Stop this hopeless dreaming.

Sensation

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She could see him doing these things but she could not hear him.

Augustine

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You stretch my heart / in sacred ways

The Application of Birds

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I know someone in need of healing.

Misunderstood, Meet Cynical.

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The blaring scream from my alarm clock suffices as my wake-up call. It disrupts me from my dream state that I so rarely get the privilege to experience any more. I've always loathed that alarm clock, so I turn it off in the most sensibly aggressive manner I know how: just…

A New Chapter to Song of Solomon: A Poem

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My beloved lets me crawl into bed and put my feet on him since his skin is warm and hot like a fire roaring from within his soft flesh.

Girl in 'Nam (Part 2)

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A life in NYC was one I always dreamed of but I found myself turning into a bitter, sarcastic person who was losing the ability to see the silver lining in just about anything.