1557 5 4
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In his heyday, Burt Reynolds owned $100,000 worth of custom-made toupees.
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1557 8 6
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Before Genesis, digesting the primordial soup.
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1557 2 1
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Naomi hadn't expected them to come in such a big box. When the UPS man tried to hand it to her, she told him there must be some mistake, but then he pointed to her name¾NAOMI BROWN¾right there on the top. When she finally got off all that tape, she had another…
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1557 5 5
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1557 4 3
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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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1557 6 4
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I woke up to the humming
of an empty space in the shape of a sweatshirt,
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1557 8 7
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1557 0 0
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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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1557 1 1
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I still picture her waving her bare arms and hands into the purple bellied clouds above the trees, her crooked smile, the spiraling silver maple seeds cascading soft circles around her determined reach, as though the very tree limbs shaping the sky above
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1556 0 0
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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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1556 0 0
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Online dating. Russian women. Beware.
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1556 8 5
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"the dark velvet slide of the tongue."
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1556 4 3
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It was a wake-up call. A sign that I needed to stop and ask if I was making wise and sensible life choices.
My iPod was full.
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1556 2 2
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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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1556 5 3
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Don reports everything to Uzma and Rasheed, I'm aware of that. It doesn't bother me. I'm not hiding anything from them or anyone else.
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1556 2 1
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‘what’s the hassle kiddo, chopping meat is fun, come here and listen to the music of the chop, the sound of steel ripping through air, slicing through flesh and hitting wood, poetry I say’.
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1556 5 4
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. . . how a body calls
in the dark. . .
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1556 8 3
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After oh so many hours
the eyes could only close
only to view a Ritz cracker
marching on a nose
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1556 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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1556 13 12
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My wife, Sheila, inadvertently clicked my e-mail address, too, when she sent her reply back to him and I read her poet friend's message that her love opened the window of his heart and she replied that his words were knocks that opened the door to her being, then I stood…
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1556 6 4
|
In a field of barley, I see you, ...
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1556 0 0
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Sora and Ciel stood before Dean Morden inside his office. It felt weird to the girls looking at him sitting behind Madam Mayweather’s desk
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1556 6 1
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I would like to go back (with spade, pick, soft bristles), and sift through time and layers, brush away the intervening years, and find: the tooth, knocked out by my then best friend, when we were seven, careening downhill in my father's wheelbarrow on Boscobel…
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1556 4 3
|
" History ...is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake."
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1556 5 5
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It's been a bad year, People dying. Some too close to home, Some too far away. I cry down to you, In your casket, and think you might sit up. You were not sick You went in just a moment, Looking stunning and alive. Not…
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1556 4 4
|
So for now, let the snow fall, but
let it fall gently,
each flake as a soft piano note
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1556 5 2
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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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1556 6 4
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... he could feel the pointed picket spears.
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1556 2 0
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My brother Herb married his high school sweetheart right after completing college. This was a girl named Beryl, whom he'd met originally in Mr. Reinert's marching band at York High School in Elmhurst. I remember one day in particular in the middle of the
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1556 6 6
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And here’s a picture of you
at the end of the line
to the great toilet of
fiction, waiting to
relieve yourself, quick
before the poetry gets to you.
Or worse, the actual
poets.
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