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. . . once you start reading and thinking about what he's saying, it's like looking at the reflection of your soul in a mirror . . .
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...society has tampered with its denotation so much that it is almost incomprehensible without context.
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the strength in you i envy/ leaves me naked, sweating in the dust/ while you possess what ethic i pretend to have/ in the face of those who expect from me/ so much more.
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A friend of mine died and went to heaven. At least I thought he went to heaven. I mean Freddie wasn’t such a bad guy and if he had any faults they were mild peculiarities. Like his girl watching. He was a champion girl watcher. Even in this a
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Dear Brandon Lee: I know that you're dead and can't respond to letters, but I've always felt a connection to you.
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Written within five minutes, being a parody of the artless vacuity of observational 'poetry'(By Tedward Weeney and Seamus Spews) The large wind in the treetop tells the blackbird its own voice. The yellow grainyard resounds to the clodding of my farmer's…
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the darkness held frieghtened by the surveillance of a distant white shimmer.
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A subway train rumbled through the underground and she actually felt it slither under her feet. Her gaze lingered for a moment on the desiccated leaves and the small rectangle of blue cardboard the blustery wind had wedged between the gargoyle's talons.
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Thus, more people can drown//
and leave their bones
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Character & Fitness, the opening chapter to my novel, "Death of the Dying City."
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Whistler pounded a nuanced nail,
into our inferior foreheads.
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Gripping the sink, head bowed, I let the blood gather on the rim of my nose, pooling for a moment, before its fleeting journey towards the basin.
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“Psst."I paused in my tracks as I walked in front of the building where Two Doughboys used to be.I looked around. The streets were deserted. I saw the big “For Rent” sign in the empty window where the sweet smell of pizza used to emanate. “Over…
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and you imagine euthanizing them if what she says is true, that she is leaving them to you in her will.
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He fought off the U-boat packs in the Atlantic — one hand on the tiller, one on the torpedo launch button.
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While sipping Earl Grey tea in the tent of Princess Citronella, I could hear the nightime burping of several camels outside trying to settle down. A slight breeze entered in through an opened flap and gently vibrated a piece of paper the Princess was handing me. A dog…
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{ a Triolet }A smile, a wave as I stepped out Into another life altogether ‘Twas little enough to talk about A smile, a wave as I stepped out And O' how after they did shout (Yet now we only talk of weather) A smile, a wave as I stepped out Into another life…
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Years ago when the smart of it was as nippy as this one.
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Those in the house don’t notice the sweaty woman on their lawn any more than they notice the Ruger LCP pistol she holds limply in her right hand.
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We may sniff a gush of something
in the rush of heat round a petrol bomb.
Or reap a gift from the
cracked head of a hero.
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The night before we dug John Clark's grave, my brother and I stood outside his windows and got an eyeful. Rose, his wife, should have closed the blinds. There she was in the arms of Willard, her neighbor, middle school science teacher. It was a serious…
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He stood sopping in front of the mirror, dripping onto the limp puddle of clothing on the floor. He needed a haircut. He needed a shave. He needed to get rid of the two-fucking-inch white hair inside the helix of his right ear. He plucked it—and all the h
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The little girl picked up the toy phone. "Who is this please?" she said, mimicking what she'd heard her mother say many times before. "Snoopy," came the voice.
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while you peed on that little old lady's begonias
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Violet goes with her mother to the home, delivering cookies to old folks. She's getting to hate how she goes along with everything her mother asks. Some of her friends are rebelling already, and Violet feels something under her skin. It's still just a dark shape, lurking…
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Star-eaterHere lies the star-eater.Tilting on the ancient wheelof summer-glaze-breath,you speak the oceans. Fire's the mealfor you, the star-eater. You defy death,and out of your mouth, a universe openspouring forth, as fleet as the starslight on your tongue. Space…
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I nearly burst out laughing when I heard myself telling him in my accented English that she’d confided in me that she was preparing to sacrifice herself as part of an elaborate snuff film produced by a band of psychotic artists hell-bent on making up for
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Notice: No Trespassing. Warning: Falling Rock. Caution: Dangerous Curve. Declaration: I Love You.
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contacts, false eyelashes, strappy open-toed sandals
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