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I just sit here thinking
You’re cheating on me again
It’s how you acted last time
The same as it’s ever been
Don’t wanna go ballistic
What’s inside your head?
Why don’t you just tell me
Who’s been sleeping in that bed
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I'm not generally a believer. But I do sense things. I see things.
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A tanka poem inspired by the 40 million debit card numbers stolen from Target stores since Black Friday last month.
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The drone of radio seeps into the car’s back seat… I hear only bits and pieces of information –
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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 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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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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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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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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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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It was the losers’ bar in my neighborhood.
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The night I screamed you out of my life for good, I fed your confettied photo to swirling toilet, a ticker tape parade and dead fish burial rolled into one. Later I found the box, a jiffy…
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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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Madame B would come once a week and tell me things that I needed to know in exchange for some free items. She would come and grasp my hand while telling me the same thing week after week. Madame B always told me to relax and things would eventually come.
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My cousin and I walked around the village at night. It was beginning to rain, but we walked on. She had a jacket. I didn’t because of course. She said: “Sometimes I just want to know if he’s settling or he’s really in love with me.”
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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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Luv walks around touching everything with her little hands. Uzma follows behind her, talking sweetly, saying: "This is going to be your new home for a while, darling."
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Observe the withered/
head atop the pole.
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Survival is often violent.
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Wishing he holds you all night, unshaven chin/between your breasts.
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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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Although it was unlikely that she would witness mobsters racing up or down Wabash Avenue with guns ablast, she paced behind the hotel's ground-floor glass eyeing traffic for fifteen or twenty minutes . . .
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Don't slow down, he said, time grows shorter every minute.
So you pretended to stay young or cheated on your marriage or forgot to watch your children growing up, and still never found someone who could understand you.
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After her grief had subsided, the wife felt immediate relief. / Suddenly she was free to abandon or pursue loneliness
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Green is the color of emeralds, jade, and growing grass. In the continuum of colors of visible light it is located between yellow and blue. Green is the color mostShades of green desireIn the Category: Shades of green Green politics meet…
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