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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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I opened the closet door and there stood Eugène Ionesco lost among our clothes.
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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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Oh, you aren't going to lecture us, for heaven's sake?
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I feel his hand on my face, feel it brush past my lips, and I taste my sister's blood.
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’m sure they have their/
cleverest working on it, though.
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If white t-shirts are only an SPF of 8, she couldn’t even imagine what a white nylon-mesh umbrella on this godforsaken beach might be in terms of protection.
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—Now that’s a hell-of-a-painting, Frank, he said. Those colors are engaged in warfare. How the hell did you do that?
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Vietnam, Tet, and beaucoup Charlie
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two pairs of arms and legs
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That streetcar named Desire, it don't hardly stop for me no more. Leastwise not while I'm awake, and I don't have to be telling no nosy aides why I make them noises in my sleep.
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At some point, you care/
just enough to wake each morning,
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It sits up tall on its hind legs to take in all of whatever this is, big and bluer than the sky, death's own taxicab parked on its doorstep.
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That TV you got me? Ruined. And the ionizer fan? Ruined too. All your clothes you left over here, all my work scrubs and weekend dresses too, soaked with that river stink water. I kept thinking bout all the dead creatures.
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I'd wear my pajamas too, fitting for the big sleep
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An excellent plan. Just like old times.
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She could see him doing these things but she could not hear him.
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The doctors said, when she was born, that the gills would eventually fade away on their own. Nothing to fear, they said; no more unusual than the rare child born with a tail, or a dense pelt of fur, or a single sharp tooth jutting from its new pink gums.
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Smiling, holding hands, Joe and Lara basked in the sunshine of the mid January day as they approached the diner. The temperature was warm enough for golf. Joe had played in far colder weather in spring and fall.
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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…
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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
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We talk of his time in the jungle.
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I love you because your eyes are both crossed
When you do it, because you’re focused
On the inside of the universe
I love you because
You’re on a roller coaster
Through life
And I can ride along
For the thrill of it
I love you because
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Lying on a high seat in the south study, this is what I see:
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Baby Teak can access Wikipedia by rubbing two xylophone mallets together.
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But the restaurants put pig in every little dish. You couldn't eat there without encountering some portion of pig. It was in everything, including the cabbage. Who puts pig in the cabbage? I'm asking you. And in the dumplings too. For God's sake, give it
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Each had jostled and laboured for his or her place upon the blunt outcrop, in the cold persistent darkness, where the outcrop was merely something that had fallen and not quite been washed away.
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I found a diseased fish / wedged between some boulders near the pier
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