1528 0 0
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Licking my wounds.
That's what my mother calls it. I'm not really sure what that means or if it's true. Sure, losing your boyfriend, apartment and job in a matter of months can drive someone to do something impulsive. Something crazy. But I've always b
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Who hasn’t at some point of the day wanted to dredge up everything in your pocket just to see what it is.
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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
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...coming into that bone yard, you just hang a right, go on past La Fontaine, and take a left a bit further on. Jimbo's right up in there.
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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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Regret takes the shape of little clouds ...
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I leapt up to retaliate when the clang of a distant door quieted my retesance. Shit, why am I so popular? I guess it was my turn to be thrown around like the guy in the Hotdog suit on the corner... Don't shoot the "Hotdog" guy... Please, please don't
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We all stared, somewhat shocked and mostly disgusted.
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I fall in love with a second cousin at the picnic. I make sure I sit next to her.
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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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I recalled the one night stand I'd had with the girl one balmy summer night in Minneapolis. We lay on my bed in the moonlight, and I touched the nipples of her tiny breasts with the thumb and pinkie of one hand.
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It’s Independence Day. But I’m not feeling independent.
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Mother’s eyes stared outward in a trance, on her throne, visualizing the world Azure made. Though it was right before her, she could not reach it.
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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 opened the closet door and there stood Eugène Ionesco lost among our clothes.
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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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Jeanne and I were married for eight years. I never knew her.
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The first night I met her we slow danced to George Strait songs for most of the evening and when we took a break, our talking went warm and well as we sat eating hot dogs and sipping beers until she dropped a couple of bombs, first, telling me she was married and then, that…
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It was unusual, a feeling of déjà vu waft in the air. However, this was completely new to them. Mayumi gripped her shoulders as Emi’s lips moved trying to ease her fear. Mayumi did not understand what this stuff was.
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The Bird King is trapped behind the mirrors. Sometimes you'll see a hand, a wing, fluttering in a dark space. You may even see his breath, a pulse of mist in a corner of the glass. But don't ever smash his silvered prison. Don't ever let him out and into the world.*****O…
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This is how she does it:
Forward………… ...Reverse..........…….....Forward..........……...Reverse
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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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The Poisoning I used to call my dad Serpico. Thirty years on the police force, and though a respected officer, he never fit in. He never had beers with the guys at the end of a shift or engaged in the more lewd locker room talk. None of the other cops were privy to which…
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Ok, ok, people are forever asking me, so why did I cross the frickin’ road? Dumb-shit me, of course. Consequences waaay unforseen.
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Have you heard this yet? The daughter flew home to care for the mother, whose pump is still tick ticking—though now with aid—which means she leaves the kitchen when the microwave clicks on.
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Then it started extruding tendrils and tying them all into intricate knots.
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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…
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We talk of his time in the jungle.
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