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The Arrival

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On a certain level, everyone was relieved when it finally did happen. They had been waiting a long time for it. Finally, they could relax. There was no reason for anxiety anymore.

Pork Rinds

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Johnny Rocket is on the I-pad, sad, He says, “Game on, King me, the Queen” Always "it", he eats pork rinds like mad, “King him again” high on amphetamine.In his sleep, ants come up from the floor board to eat french fries, cola, their aorta…

The United States of America

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In the United States of America children everywhere are waiting for summer vacation. To a child in the United States, there is summer vacation and then there is everything else. Summer vacation is freedom. The united states was built on the foundation that one day we will…

before hell freezes over completely

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I remember how silk felt against skin, dressed in my damn flimsy things, while the cold bit my nipples. How I would lie in your arms when I was young, after being awakened from my pubescent slumber. (Enough of that!) In a rush to grow up for good, holdi

An Orb for a Better World

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Max sighed. Solving for x was boring, so mind numbingly boring that he didn't notice the flickering blue light hovering in his room. It crackled and popped, growing until a shimmering rectangle stretched from floor to ceiling.A hand pushed out from the rectangle, and a…

Fantasy Wiring

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In the mechanics of the fantasy, it is essential that the wiring is maintained, all circuits working, every current flowing with the precise measurements, lest the system malfunction and the world completely lost. The engineers are constantly abuzz, constantly understaffed…

Not Another Day In The Machine.

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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

From "One of: A Family Miscellany"

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" History ...is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake."

Twain

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. . .the clock of lips, timing their avid omens --

Friday 13.10.1307

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This is a warrant for your arrest.

And Father Makes Three

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His father whistles The Torreador's Song in the kitchen; Mirko smells bacon.

Poet's Offer to Help Grieving Goes Unheeded

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Remembering you is easy We do it every day, When little Mike and Joey Ask when the hell is Daddy ever coming home to play?

Abandon

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They left the breath of their souls upon the lips of others and jumped in with all abandon They felt the winds on their skin as the heart flew by them on its way into the lost nature of time This time they flee the country of the soul

raging bull guy

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I’d made that shot a thou­sand men­tal times, and when it counted, I missed. It hap­pens.

Genesters

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There once was a lake skipping stone and it skipped, five times, the end... Ceiling fluorescents brilliant in the white space opened to the exterior of the Hog n' Bluster hero shop through the narrow glass front and shown out to the empty brick paved commons of…

A Blowhard Drops By

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So, I say, what is the answer? The answer to what? You know. The song by Bob Dylan. The answer is blowing in the wind. You’re the wind. So what’s the answer?

To Whom It May Concern:

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Now, we can argue about how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop, but there is no doubt that it takes eight spritzes of Scrubbing Bubbles bathroom cleaner, three spritzes of Lime-Away, and then a 30 second spray of Oust to incapacitat

creation

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Leaving another seemingly pointless day at the office. 4:55pm. Winding through the office parking lot; turning right onto SE Convenience Blvd; inevitably pulling up to a red stoplight at the Orlabor intersection.My windshield is dirty. Speckled with thrown-up slush from…

Why Your Choice of Music Matters to the History of the People

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Once there was a real honest to God holy spiritout there that was a gift of loving kindness meant for everyone to share; unfortunately, it was given to all the wrong people, or the wrong people simply stole it. Either way the wrong people are…

Desert Storm, an Infrared Dream/David Avidan

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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

soften the lazy honey

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Pots of wine crowding the forehead until irrational thought crowds out the stubborn lizard of sanity and, God knows, my elegance. What else is left? As the young seeks change, so will I. Seeks the carmine lip, so the white bud seeking God, the unchanged

hush

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every timeyou openyour mouthan angel fallsinto a vat of whiskyshut ityou're fucking up heaven2013 - Rene

Youth

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I'm ten.

Black BoBbY BuRiED

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Bobby turned black yesterday. Not like his ethnicity, or skin color. But his soul. Not his soul. Not black either. But a violet desecrating blue. That kind of blue that use to sit in the ocean, then dried up, and vanished into a big terrifying stupor. He looked at me with…

Stroke

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She doesn't regret that they hadn't spoken. What did they have to say to each other, anyway?

Requiem for a Bodyguard

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People in bad health who want to kill themselves are no different than ancient Romans who ran on their swords. They only want to save themselves a bit of embarrassment.

Un Americano

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His eyes are wide then narrow and brown. Hers are gray then they look away, toward the back door where a delivery driver has walked in, carrying a tray. Nothing is going to happen today.

Soft Voices

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soft voices singing somewhere in the black back of rising tensions crashing with the waves...

Butterflies are the souls of dead babies

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When he leaves, she collects all the caterpillars she can find at the bottom of the garden and sits cross-legged in the shade of the buddleia. She makes a hollow in her skirt and drops in the smooth green, the furry black, the red, spotted and the spiny ones and watches as…

The Green Eyed Lady in the Glass Café

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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,…