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We’re going to talk about our future like the Rick Dees Weekly Top 40. Like there are 40 great songs this week about our future.
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You’re listening to Smooth FM, taking you from the darkest hours to the start of a brand new day.
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Sitting in the car, John had the urge to kill himself.
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Mother told me that I would go to the moon. But she did not tell me that on Diwali night, the moon hid himself on the other side of the sky.
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Mom stayed up all night again Tending to her papers Pushing them around Trying to make order of the debts, the dreams and the obligations She couldn't get the columns to add up, So she shuffled them around some more and Rearranged the piles …
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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'm not sure whetherI drink to numbthe pain or toactually feelsomething.
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Anatoly Gringovitch sat in the police car returning him to the Opera House.
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Meanwhile it was four o'clock in the morning, Pacific time. Seven o'clock eastern. The cat was busy chasing imaginary mice around the hammock—at least Manuel hoped the mice were imaginary. He loaded the next digital images onto the screen. It seemed to
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the honesty of bodies & the lies hidden under skin.
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i hear the boom boom boom
in the room room room
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6. to register for the draft
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Any form of exertion would defile what we are trying to do
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So for now, let the snow fall, but
let it fall gently,
each flake as a soft piano note
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Sebastian and Janice had been a natural match. They sought to deny this at first because a recovery assistance program was not a place to forge intimate relationships. It worked out wonderfully in Hollywood, but Hollywood, as everyone knew, was just a facade. So…
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Frank kept looking over at Michiko’s loft.
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When I first started this, a few months ago, I was timid about looking people in the eye.
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sometimes it's hard/ to leave the house in the morning/ when bed is so comfortable/ and you're so far away.
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Or, do my own red flags counter balance his. My back and forth, my restlessness, my one foot out the door, my ‘once a leaver… always a leaver’, my pitter patter for a former flame... peppered with my transgressions, my mistakes. Or, worse, the way I have
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We suffer//
the one agony only- of having no longer/
any physical effect nor way to speak/
of what we watch to those we watch.
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Sit right down in the chair. It's a glider, see? Smooth and easy movement without that annoying head-swing you get from a rocker. And easy to get out of, unlike a lounge chair. Relax. "Reba" reruns will be coming on in a minute.
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The blood is memorable/
as is the copper taste of that/
momentary certainty of lockjaw.
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Poetry is conceit; emotional, intellectual or technical.
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Conjure calamity and calamity comes.
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Half past six; already, through the gloom Saltwater flourish sifts from wharfs that ply Their play like girls that haunt the midnight's womb, As far it seems as walks of Barbary. Within the bar, French waitresses and sots Play dice with time awhile and rub…
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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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His touch, even now, seemed to set off tremors inside her.
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I can admire Falling Water
and find Mr. Wright a complete shit.
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He wasn't sure if I was joking.
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