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The Sun's Curtains

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It must be nice not to have to worry About certain things because those things are not yet In your circle, or in your circus, of life. I don't begrudge you for being almost grown in A much different, sweeter place and time. I'm thrilled By…

Off the Record

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“In other words you're going to lie through your teeth..."

Tracks

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When dogs run free

Widow Walk

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She heads toward the end of the island and doesn't look back.

the hunt

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the fine hair on your belly

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On the beaches in the summer the fine hair rose up from under the material of your bikini and swirled around your deep navel, almost invisible to the naked eye, but not to the mind, which imagines everything funneling down into the center of your being,

Where Does Love Come?

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He was rummaging through his giant pile of clothing on the floor, looking for something to wear to sleep. When he couldn't quite tell what was dirty and what was clean, he knew it was time for laundry. Just as he was going to…

The Suicider (Long Version)

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He woke up four hours later with the second worst headache of his life. He leaned against the car door, his face against the window, and pulled the handle to open the door, but it smacked against the back wall vibrating the glass against his cheek. He tri

The Glassblower

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His beloved are paper-thin when he blows into the free end. Green tint from copper.

Dysplasia

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In my mind the village of 300 souls is called Nedoweska, but I confess that that's just a dreamy nickname I had for it as a boy. For various geopolitical reasons it had since become noteworthy as a historical site, though our interest was purely personal.…

My First Love Messages Me On Facebook

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He tells me that he thinks he reached out as he needed healing and I wonder if I should diagnose him on the spot, explain what years of therapy taught me about him. I don't. Instead I compliment a photograph of the pot plants he grows, organic,

To Christine, Whom I Loved Because Another Would

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She was from Tennessee, with advantages over me. An upbringing surrounded by books and sensitivity.

Sourballs

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Lights of human occupation burn/ in patterns like the growth/ of a bacillus, lethal and prodigious,

1973, what I wanted

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Not the torn magazine page, not the smell of ink, not the sweat of palm nor the froth of irish spring

My Yogurt Jones

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And so began my love affair with a thick, semisold substance. Sort of like Mary Van de Velde, the chubby girl who was my partner in my 6th grade polka troupe.

All You Need Is Love

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Now I know All you need is coffee

bloodletting and the strobe of hearts

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the injured color wheel of the world

Waiting for Hurricane Dennis, Florida 2005

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WAITING FOR HURRICANE DENNIS, FLORIDA 2005 With soft eyes, she quizzed, shivered, said: “Where's Dad? Where's Ric? Will you leave me here alone? Are you all going to leave? Where's Peter? Do you feel all right? We're…

Acorn Gardening for Everyone

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I'd like to grow you a new flower. I thinkmaybe I just will. Right now. Here's as good a place as any. Well you'll probably never get to see it, but it will be there just the same and it will be all yours. Kind of like these poems that I make if…

Gabe

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“Damn!” he said to himself, wondering for the millionth time what he was doing in such a sad line of work. Break time, he decided, grabbing his stash box and locking himself into the freezing cold bathroom to smoke a joint. He emerged thirty minutes la

Double Vision

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To conceive of them separated was unthinkable to every wet-eyed soul at the burial.

rewind...

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here’s the deal… sorrow follows tears… pain later for the happiness now… is the joy something we only borrow…?

Session Fifteen

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"That it was my stepdad's fault."

Arcana Magi Memorial Vol.7 - c.4

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Azure lowered her head, nearly burying it in the window, watching the helicopter land.

Fugue No. 2

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Moonless sky of stars, silently flickered by bats, with constellations defined and bold. The curve of the plough matching that of your shoulder, as if it were a decoration.

Of Roses and Hyacinths

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The blooms are practical/ and cannot see themselves

Notebook (excerpt)

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I try as much as I can to write but only in as much as you believe―am I successful.

Max Beckmann Poem

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the unutterable things of this world

skull of a sheep

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You are in a car speeding through Dublin towards the West year after year the journey uncoils past the same landmarks Kilmainham Jail strapped to a chair bullet to the brain on by the Rowntree Mackintosh factory where the black and yellow and orange and r

About That Leg

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I could have said no. I should have said no. Prudence, however, was not in the air. Fourteen minutes later I am at the door of his condo a few blocks from Pier 39. Twenty minutes later I have wriggled into his extra wetsuit and am following him on his wif