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Dear Patricia, You look marvelous. You seem marvelous. You've added wonder to Oprah's life and that's no small feat. But, here's the thing. I was working on this short story about a relative trying to get in touch with O, one of thousands, except, this one, well this one…
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Under a conspiratorial moon… the shovel my silent partner… organ-less torso to the worms.
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Mayumi approached them; her memories of their faces from the texts they received from each other had come alive.
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She’s always had one foot on a pedestal and the other in a gutter.
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I remember the first & only time I parachuted it was 1964 my 16th birthday a rite of passage if you will from the old man an aerospace engineer & former WWII B24 bomber pilot I practice-jumped from oil barrels taught how to fall back then when the time came…
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I woke up to the humming
of an empty space in the shape of a sweatshirt,
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It starts with a letter, down the back of the couch, ending, ‘love, always.' I read only the kisses aimed at me - a firing line running off the page. How long has that letter hidden there? It secreted itself in a corner of the house…
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On Friday evenings they play Scrabble, a whole crowd of them. They use books to keep score, page numbers, instead of a long column of pencil scratches. They organize themselves into teams; the English majors all together, versus biology, history and horn players. She and he…
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A man bows his head
and crosses his chest
before crossing the street
and the rain keeps falling
on his bare blue shirt
and on top of his head
The taxis will not stop
The light’s still red
as the man waits
for the sign of the hands
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heart-shaped stones
love, devotion
no way
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Style Shifts “Oh, yes, my cousin. We were rude boys until the armed gangs started to gather. Used to be we could pass a night driving, playing our songs, acting tough. Yeah. We'd mouth off, flash some teeth, spark some anger when we felt like it. We…
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Sweaty feet, drool from the weighty sleep of mid-afternoon naps, the inescapable perspiration of the South: all combine to create the entwined scent of socks and stale toothbrushes...
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She said, "Tonight let's talk of things untrue and he said, ' Like black is white and night is day and up is down and in is out?' and she said, 'Yeah, those things we know to be false for sure like you know, like...well, you could say, 'I really love you' and I could say,…
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They called him “Albert, the Human Armadillo,” and he was. Rows of hard scales ran down the course of his chest, and he was studied and biopsied by doctor after doctor. “Psoriasis,” they said. “Or, eczema.” They prescribed ointments and oils that left him
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the lightning horse you never mounted in your inherited dream~wetter than the oceans you never traversed~will you ever ride pure abandon?
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Removing the deeply embedded jack-blade frommy naked side, like any slicked-upsplinter, was just a bit jarring on the first bite, on first try, I must admit. I freelydo so now to your frozen-over faces. You made your…
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"...,beautiful, yet neutral, an oversimplistic reading of the people we meet."
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Treasure that first love. And that first heartbreak. Don’t let it be the last thing.
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“That pool will be the death of me.”Which Dad said at least a couple of times a week. Ten times the week after he'd read the TXU bill.“Goddamn pump, and that twitchy little Polaris. We should fill that pool with dirt and plant some trees and Asian…
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All else is unmoved/
and relentless in its indifference.
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Seeking your will, instead we found, somehow, a clutch of our own documents;
folded under a rubber band gone to rot,
muddy strands nestled in the creases.
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She had a face like a frog: wide mouth, prominent eyes – and when she touched him, her fingers felt clammy on his skin.
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My student assistant was a comely young woman. A freckle faced blonde. She was from Ohio.
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Elaine and Francesco exited the taxi in front of Elaine Aster Gallery.
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Meanwhile stars continue to surprise...
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We trade broken phrases of English, Arabic...
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Suddenly something clicked.
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He roared back at her, shaking his empty gun in his right hand, waving his left hand in the air. “I am George Burnett, esquire, late of Balliol College, Oxford! I am a hunter, a killer of pigs! I do not fear you, bear; take the pig and be content!”
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this is where we end --
the exorbitant eye of forgotten days.
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