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ghosts of the previous owners who leave a trail of whispers
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Inevitability: it's what's for dinner.
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like old discarded snake skin,
dry and coarse after the bite...
immortally tortured by broken glass bottles.
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we all die from the bottom up
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Consider this. Only a sentence ago we were complete strangers, oceans of time, distance and thought between us.
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We can’t just bomb Berlin or Dresden,/
Nagasaki or Hanoi, to make things safe
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The world has long since been bootlegged by madmen. The new invisible con men are the same as the old visible con men, hiding and lying behind their walls of lingering death. There's a weapon wielding demon hell bent on an insane vengeance crawling around…
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Later, my daughter told me that she hadn't been scared because as I lay on the ground unconscious I continued to laugh, gradually relaxing into a big smile as I came around a minute later.
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HORDES OF MEN desolated, struck down, destroyed, sunken form of skin and skeleton, bare cloth matted to torso, bodycage and hipbone, face and neck darkened, bloating to black, rain the endless dream stuck fast in the stone-dead skull and blood a fine sheen over all,…
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people keep trying to get me/ "out of the house"./ they see fun in me, and cool in me,/ and want to spend time with me,/ and i am flattered most sincerely./
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I dream about the boy in The Neverending Story, the gate of mirrors, and the Nothing, a dark cloud that floats in the sky, takes away everything.
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The cover features Lincoln as a woman. Lincoln as a woman is not a thing of beauty.
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His shirts he hangs on the back of the chair, one on top the other so they won't wrinkle.
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You can't always be everything
you were expected to be
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Culture gives what it feels you deserve/
in the cul-de-sac of your time and place.
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a half-moon hung straight up and down
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you tell
a stranger's story...
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"Sometimes things just don’t go as planned. It doesn’t mean anyone is to blame - It just is."
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My stories are ramshackle; they lurch along in old sweaters with holes and missing buttons, drinking from mismatched cups and saucers.
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Take 1. The Love Letter to an Unspoken Name Well we're beyond our appointed Moment now. We must step On what's left, alone, but That begs some explanation to These days that pinball between Stars and to the sad dreamers…
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Tentacles hold fast to the small/
thrashing thing they believe is true//
which, devoured, once crushed/
completely still, turns into shit,
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philanthropy corrugated with a smirk / printed aside every cardboard box and room / every cardboard house with every cardboard door.
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"I'm just going to
take a power nap!"
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say no / to me / and devastate me / and I will take it / as god's will / to drown me / in a vat / of my own / entrails
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Today I’m feeling crabby and haggard and technology makes it easy to get to the point.
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I love Hooters. Best cheese steak in town in my opinion.
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When I was younger, I tried very hard to be myself, but it never worked. I'd close my eyes, wait a beat, open them and slowly bring them into focus. This is the new me, the only me. Never worked, not once. It could only last a minute or two, so I…
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...bush tail beside him his closest comfort next to the genes...
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Is this sought sea dream of the Arctic fox? The green below the circles of the white, above her eyes? On Formica tables where the woman smocks beneath glass borders of their vacant smiles, they pass by windows formulating styles,…
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1443 4 1
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Ben was not a happy musician.
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