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Danny was only ten years old when he first met the man in the suit. His machine looked like a plotter and it was, sort of, but also something of a plot device.
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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
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“I don't cotton much to some of the johnnie-come-lately's we get around here,” says Graham Buchter. “They're a bunch of talkers—they wear me out.”
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I know I used to say I’d rather walk on the moon with my own rapacity. And you can easily say things like that, given the luxuriance of youth. But it was a lie, if you want to know the truth. That is only so much hot balloon air, puffed up in the chest,
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I imagine Gene Simmons licking a twelve year old girl that looks like Erin dressed in a dog collar and leash.
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Franz Kafka opens the refrigerator
And removes a bowl of jello
With the face of Bella Abzug in it
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He opened an old book,flipping through its yellowedpages. A small piece of blue paperfell to the floor; he picked it up."Meet Tom at 4:00. Julius Bar."Standing there, Tom appearedas he sat down with the note,putting Tom back together:Tall, he remembered; Irish,green eyes…
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Rocky, Arne’s elderly cat, was perturbed by invisible phantoms that provoked him to leap up on his hind legs, batting his front paws at the air like Don Quixote attacking windmills.
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A Walk Among Pigeons
I know these pigeons. They were beggars
in another life. I may have
been among them once,
but then I fell in love, and
when that ended,
my spirit floated free.
And I became, though
somewhat battered and
b
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He pronounced the Afrikaans word with the vowel sound like the vowel in dour. It meant box, but it also meant cunt.
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It is dead, for a time.
Sometimes we are all dead for a time.
Our lives leave off, sleep under the weight of snow.
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^ through a busted window in this desert…
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Rasheed changes his mind about working for me. He can't bring himself to break with Uzma. The bond between them is too strong. I admire his loyalty, to her and to her parents. Don turns out to be my most reliable ally. Plus, he brings a ragtag security force with…
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You, who reaches in, touches me in that moment of decision, and knows I’ll be everything you’ve looked forward to tonight.
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Summer nights or frozen
winter, the crackles of his black.
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It's one of the most difficult problems of aesthetic philosophy: What do we mean when we say that a song is sad? None of the big names--Aristotle, Kant, Croce–Benedetto, not Jim–come close to answering it.
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I'm an artist, baby. We make our own rules.
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The Circle of Four looked at the little girl’s back, and they could almost see the wings, but it could never take shape because of her heart.
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" . . . with twinges of dread and pangs guilt, I worry . . . "
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Like so many high school drugheads I warmed up to Coleridge because he was an dope fiend. If you want to get young men interested in poetry it helps if you lure them to the art through controlled substances.
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His left hand is still clutching the blue Bic lighter in his pocket, rubbing it slowly but firmly. Anticipation is building, filling Theodore up like a combustible gas inside of a too-small container.
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They prize how she makes shit up on short notice
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Something’s been eating at my craw. I’m just going to go ahead and spill it all out. You ever hear about Poetry Whores? Well, let me tell you a little about them, because if I don’t, then who will? I’m not going to name names. You can pretty much guess
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I planned to wear this shirt, /
blue, black, and white stripes, /
collar and pocket,
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Plus women can be really sexy when their horny and plump with baby envy. If I could make a hard-on I’d like to be around for that.
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Yellows and reds shed
warp and weft
bobbins of color
spooling...
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We wanted so much to find ourselves in a beautiful world. It was, and is, but every inviting leaf has got another hidden dangerous precedent that must be surrendered to in order to survive to see another sunset with the ones you actually…
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Where We Come From (ver. 2.0) (Leadwood, Missouri pop. 1,200) I Matt lit a joint here driving beneath the arms of dying trees The moon shone through in jigsaw puzzles that we could never quite figure out Gravel crackled like leaves in fire …
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“Hi, I'm Mike, and I don't wanna work ... Wanna play foos?”
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This energy said, "Fuck it, I am going to be the fucking sun."
In it’s language it sounded more like "Khershhhhhhh Hhhhhhhhhhh Zirshhhhhhh."
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