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the first time I met Terry

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I remember the first time I met the virgin, Terry (not Mary.) She was in the back seat of an old Plymouth convertible with its top down, jam-packed with raucous high school girls vying to see which one of them could be the most loud and obnoxious, and w

Alcoholism Does Not Come Naturally to All Alocoholics

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Couldn't get that first beer past his nose. Fared no better with wine, gagging on red and white. Then someone fixed him screwdriver.

The First Time

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The summer I turned fourteen I had a job babysitting our neighbor, Pam's three year old daughter, Annie, three nights a week while Pam was going to Junior College, but it was hardly work because, after I tucked Annie in to sleep, I just watched TV, sitting in Pam's den…

The Shrink

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Did they do it in pairs or all at the same time?

Knott Travel

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The next post card was of gondolas in Venice. “Have never not enjoyed ourselves less,” wrote Sylvia. “Sylvia can be hard to please,” said Angelynn. “Those boats could use a coat of paint,” I said.

Lovers

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The lawyer is having a party the next weekend.... He's celebrating because he won a court case to have his alimony reduced.

Behind the Ear

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She grew tired of waiting for her husband to give her a flower so she picked one for herself.

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 33

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She’s a gourmet cook who can fake a great orgasm.

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

Sorting through two forms of stupid

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Does modeling come easily to me? Am I made for the camera? Not exactly. When I pose for a shot, I feel, well, like a poser, really.

He's Sarcastic

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I got kicked out of a soup and salad place last week for trying to buy a large soda so I could sit and eat my sack lunch there while I read “Love’s Desperate Creatures” by Dorothy Danville. Have you read it? Its great. I’ll give it to you when I’m done

Myra's Lighthouse

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I’ve been mentally cataloging all the various ways Myra has fucked me up. I know this is a dangerous game, strapped to our seats inches apart and hurling down the road at 70 mph, but I can’t help fiddling with the fuse.

Fixing Fence

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The sun is coming up and the work day has already begun.

Lost Keys

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The most unoriginal, trite and hackneyed story ever written!

Haiku For Birthdays

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The Date

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Everything was cool until she used the phrase, "five million dollar home."

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?

Koo, The Queen of Nowhere

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Koo ate the sad, bitter pills just so she wouldn’t have to try and make small talk about La Donna’s deformed, retarded kid.

Things of Beauty

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The cover features Lincoln as a woman. Lincoln as a woman is not a thing of beauty.

The Cicada's Complaint

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Shiva and Zeus convene a focus group. “It wouldn’t work,” the panel votes. “Those leaf eaters would strip the trees and crops if we let them come back every year.” “That’s true,” Jehovah reasons. “Remember that plague of locusts I sent down?”

BLOOM HEIGHT CANOPY

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you said, 'watch it. i am the mountain,' so i aimed 'pause' at the VCR and believed. shook my legs, tangled your red silk to hold back the tremor. in the dream i did not kiss you, but in this story i do and it breaks

This Story Has No Title

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They watch her, scald her skin with hot eyes whose stares run up and down her body like lice.

Duluth Harbor

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"And yet she always went on writing, even when nobody cared if she did or not: if she stopped, she told an imaginary prosecutor in her diary, 'I will not have earned death.' "

Prosaic Miscellany

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Some days, you want all the red states to secede

Here Comes the Sun/ There Goes the Moon

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still have the yellow rose that I did not throw into the grave.

North Star

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... threads are nasty things / That snag and pull and tear the cloth / And will not let me be.

Kicker

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My grandma kicks field goals between her bedposts, again and again. My finger is sore from holding. She says that's all I'm good for. My finger is smudged with ink from writing my poems on her paper: half-moon rowboats, clouds like whales. She twisted my finger for …

October Day Salute

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The duty of a student can be summed up in a sentence To benefit the race of man with thoughtful independence

The Cosmos as Gerunds

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There is no there or where but rather/ trajectories of probability

stye

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poked in the eye