1454 0 0
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Would we have been satisfied with a humble butter sculpture of a cow in 1960? Puh-lease! Would Parisians of the Impressionist era swoon over a big-eyed child picture?
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1454 6 5
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I can do the hot coals, no problem.
Or, your love, eyes closed.
Or your sneer, spank,
suffering, resentment, rejection.
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1454 5 3
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“There is a fine line between love and hatred.” This was what his closest friend, Bob Sanders, had said to him many years ago. And it had finally and irrevocably proven to be so.
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1453 2 1
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My eyes are wide open. I look like a graphic novel. My world is black and white. I’m poorly drawn. All sounds have an exclamation point.
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1453 11 8
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We must sometimes see the world/
as the pale blue dot//
surrounded by brighter dots/
and that endless field of darkest dark.
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1453 2 1
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I don't know what I'd expected from the week of mourning after my mother died but I sure hadn't pictured this marathon cocktail party. Our house is packed with people, food, booze and borrowed chairs. People I haven't seen in years keep turning up with casseroles.I'm…
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1453 10 8
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One day, my feet and hands got into an argument. My feet argued that they were superior because they were not only the foundation of my body, but the cause of its mobility. They were modest in size, yet supported and transported an entire body that towered over them.…
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1453 3 2
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We were talking in the dark in my room. He lay on a mattress on the floor. He came for a sleepover.
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1453 1 0
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Flicking through the sheets on her clipboard, Evelyn double checked the address with the mismatched numbers on the letterbox. Its mouth was a rusty, gaping grin like it had lost its dentures.
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1453 9 8
|
Dressed as an English professor on Halloween
I escape the red devil and run downtown.
I go to the Art Car hangar
I dance, I swing my golden brown briefcase
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1453 0 0
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We trade broken phrases of English, Arabic...
|
1453 3 2
|
A young boy, breathing heavily from running, stopped at her feet, barely able to speak,
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1453 6 2
|
The laptop has ruined the sanctity of the library. And so I get up and go see Queen Jane.
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1453 17 9
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let’s press our words into the clay/
in language so completely dead/
we have to re-imagine it.
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1453 2 1
|
I remember sitting there on the first unfinished rooftop, watching you building houses out of words. You hammered in grammar and punctuation; you said these things needed to be hammered in by hand. You drove the long straight exclamation …
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1453 7 5
|
This late November day there are too many leaves filling the yard.
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1453 5 3
|
Oh my god - A plagiarizing pony - I know someone must have said that before
|
1453 2 1
|
She’s always had one foot on a pedestal and the other in a gutter.
|
1453 1 1
|
Pen or sword? Pick one/choose your battles carefully/for the paths oppose
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1453 4 2
|
I was in life, in my dream. I was feeling around underneath your clothing. My fingers were shining in the underwater afterlife of memory, searching for those lovely nipple-sized mollusks. I lived in a land somewhere between the past and the future. Now
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1453 0 0
|
Your father, his father, and his before that, your mother, her mother, and all the way back have kept a tradition by chance or by will to each have a baby (or several) until…
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1453 8 7
|
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1453 9 0
|
Of flowers there Are none In June No sun Upon my cheek The gentle breeze Stirs me not The smiles They cloud my vision Birds they Sing their songs But I hear Them not When tears Rain down My heaven.
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1453 4 4
|
Sometimes my poems escape. They crawl out through my Wi-Fi connection, I suspect.
|
1453 7 3
|
At last, we learn if Blow has the cojones to fight.
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1453 2 2
|
|
1452 3 0
|
Roanne, just out of jail, went to cop. That is, she went to beg fat little Freddy the dopeman to front her once more. She'd have to fuck Freddy, of course, but, well, maybe he'd wait until after this time. Likely not…
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1452 5 2
|
Have you ever seen a body of words give birth to a paragraph? I won't lie. It's a little gross. But quite moving. First there is the biology of reproduction. A blackbird living in an electric guitar, for instance, and its inexplicable urge to mate with an elephant.…
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1452 17 9
|
In the next week or two, the red oak/
will loose and lose its leaves
|
1452 5 3
|
We entered the castle at dawn. The dim light feebly illumined an array of antiques and medieval weapons. Bats dangled from the high vaulted ceiling, enfolded in membranous wings. What were once chandeliers radiating light were encrusted with webs and the ancient wax…
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