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an elongating boy with butter-yellow flecks in his eyes, and skin patched like a tabby.
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My third Rule of Success—and I may not have these in exactly the right order–is always get a pre-nup!
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the epiphany at the mast at midnight is not the same at dawn
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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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In the end nothing could bring him back because I tried. All those weeks and months, yet all I have left are the tears and memories. He said when he asked the final questions to those in charge he was confused.
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If I could say only one thing more to Tony who died a month ago, there is one thing I could find to say
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Happy Birthday to me.
It takes just a second on waking to remember,
It's June but it feels like December.
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The silver urn of ashes inscribed
with his unknown name.
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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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indelicate, as everything arrives at once.
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The last chick in the nest
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Nothing good ever waits at the end of a long corridor.
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He kept
saying how my old scars
excited him to new truths
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From the rumple of pre-dawn Queens, sure South on 95, to almost Savannah by dark; still cold, but we’re full of what’s coming:
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I
A sparklerman zig-zagged across the skies, re-arranging stars in its path. How bright his stick-like and jaggy limbs twinkle, I noticed; even noticing my surprise. No longer 'simply sitting', I was.
'It is time' I mumbled. The room was melting, si
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We're at the Park Diner. My dad Tommie is sitting across from me. He looks haggard, tired. His skin is pasty and washed-out. He's not talking, so I'm not talking either, but it doesn't matter because it's hanging there between us.Cancer.Motherfucker.“Don't look so…
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It is your hamsa that protects us,” the girl whispers to me.
“Then I shall give it to you,” I reply.
“No,” she says in the unselfish innocence of her youth. “It is yours and you must keep it.” I smile and kiss her dirty forehead. Eternity passes whil
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I am not responsible for any nightmares this piece may cause for all you mice lovers!
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Up at the top, a quarter mile south, billows of black smoke crawled up the faint blue of the sky.
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Her boyfriend is into U.S. presidents and professional wrestling. He is reading biographies of both occupations and says this helps him to appreciate gray area, decisive action. Lives of great men, he explains.
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Once you descend, the third rail/
hums its invitation
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My grandfather rode with the Czar’s army. He was abducted from a village in Austria, trained to pillage and drink, plunder and rape, and ride the best horses that could be had. They were given the best vodka and the sharpest swords. They were all just b
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Over his usual ham sandwich and skim milk for lunch Uncle Waldo used to always say, “Going out in the dead of night without a flashlight is dangerous.” But I knew what I was doing. After dark, I'd slip out and sneaker on down the path to take a dip in a…
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Heel to toe, our bunions
are our ingrown medals.
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he who laughs last is probably a dumbass fuck
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'Like poems,’ I said
she paused and nodded
her black mop.
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Desert Storm, an Infrared Dream/Poem by the late David Avidan
On January 17, 1991 I woke up at 02:45 from a neo-surreal dream with a slight not very serious feeling of suffocation a pre-asthma attack instantly stifled with the inhalation of Ventolin an
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I'd had a long, hard fall from the pinnacle of the profession. I made the mistake of accepting a mouse pad, coffee mug and a fleece pullover with the logo of Upchux, an anti-reflux drug, on the left breast where you'd get heartburn.
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I am only ever
What you seem to be
Without the leverage
Of sweet reality
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Sitting together at Starbucks, we composed a long love letter which we've been mailing back and forth to each other, signing our name upon each receipt and returning it for the last nine months and it has grown to eighty seven pages, barely fitting in a shoe box.
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