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...clash of gulls
wend upwards, disappearing into grey
night's high tide recedes
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she goes jogging with the feet of an angel the sound of crunching leaves like wrapping paper torn open to reveal an expensive doll and the light in her mother's eyes.
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My Thursday head belonged to a former Miss Brazil named Rita.
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at all altitudes and at all latitudes /
glaciers in furious melt: / both Greenland and Antarctica headed both /
to be ice-free isles adrift / and with shorter coastlines amidst higher seas.
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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, …
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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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When I met Gregor Samsa he was still a cockroach, erratic and skittish whenever the light came on. We often spoke in the dark. I empathized with the man. I mean bug. Ok. That isn't fair. You can't call a man a bug because he chirps and eats dried skin cells. A…
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Then it started extruding tendrils and tying them all into intricate knots.
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I'm waiting for your voice. My trembling hand is so damp the phone could slip from my fragile grasp at any moment. Each ring burns in my ear and makes the washing machine in my stomach tumble faster and faster. After three rings, or it could be four, or forty, I hear…
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’m sure they have their/
cleverest working on it, though.
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Any form of exertion would defile what we are trying to do
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the two become one where/
all things end,
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Nights this husband returned home still hungry sometimes, even for her forearms against his own
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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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I want to tell you how the odor of the flowers/felt her funeral day
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The currents of events/
strip the molecules from cartilage,//
reverse polarity of ventricles—
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A tornado and peacock were bred in his paddock; the couple gave birth to a turquoise lasso.
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Even the old medicine woman seemed to grin with a perverted sort of understanding when she opened the door to find Lys waiting outside. She was comfortable nowhere and ready to flee at any moment.
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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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The Gropers of Prague were there, all around us, in spirit if not in fact. Was it KGB? Was it a ghost from my past? Or my own hand?
Stop guessing. It was Einstein himself. The KGB had taken him into custody somehow, though by what authority? All the
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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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In the fall it is especially beautiful with the blazing orange oaks set on fire against a crystal blue sky. It is here that she frequently daydreams of her demise.
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A woman who is, say, a culinary arts champion or an heiress devoted to literature such as Bryher (Annie Winifred Ellerman) or Peggy Guggenheim might be able to turn me on, turn me out, turn me around.
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I do not know the species of birds here. /
The two I see playing on the balcony at night /
I can never call back.
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In his heyday, Burt Reynolds owned $100,000 worth of custom-made toupees.
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The eyelid of the sink blinks silence. The clocks choke on smoke.
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The shirts hanging by the back veranda serve as our memorial to them.
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It worked for a short time and their next album, "The Hirsute Agenda" became an underdog success.
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“She’s very sick. She’s dying,” and he smoothed my hair along my neck.
“It’s leukemia. A very rare type,” his hand reached my shoulder and stopped there.
“She only has a few months.”
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