1335 0 0
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She found Matthew toward the back, cradling an urn with a tasteful black and gold pattern. When he saw her approaching, he held it up for inspection. “You think I’d look good in this?” he asked.
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1335 1 1
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I like violence /
because they refused to pay at attention to me /
as a child.
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1335 9 7
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I’m on Discord but I don’t know how to do anything.
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1335 5 3
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I don't look like other poets. /
People hardly believe it when I say /
"I write poetry, sometimes. /
During lonely evenings."
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1335 3 2
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...when they spotted each other through the glass, with he inside and she outside, she quickly began licking her fork obscenely, attempting to exhibit her sexual prowess with regard to the dexterity of her tongue and mouth...
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1335 17 9
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...swallowed like a radiant yolk by an epicurean barracuda.
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1335 0 0
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My heart was a puzzle completely incomplete,
until I learned of love in your embrace.
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1335 1 0
|
The view from the tenth floor of Ramses Hilton hotel was depressing. A restless crowd undulated between the wrecks of tanks and armored cars.
JOURNALIST: Hey! I’m dying here, and you admire the views?
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1335 0 0
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“All I want,” he was heard to say, “is a date with a really
good-looking woman before I go away.”
|
1334 1 1
|
Damn, the light turned
green
on me.
Wasn't ready.
|
1334 1 0
|
At six a.m. he was awakened by the alarm on the watch, and found he could not remove it from his wrist, though he was able to turn it off. Of course, she was gone, but had left a little patchouli-scented note on a pillow.
|
1334 0 0
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When not enough is left to utterThe syllables it takes to say,Goodbye--Disassembled and developed,Laid upon the ground,Like the girded gridlockOn your smog befitted brow...Goodbye.And what if I said, hello?What if I said, good day?Would it change your sunken bodyAnd repair…
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1334 19 12
|
She's not a poet, but does she have to be? She comes to the reading to read the poems of her recently dead husband, for she made a vow: that she would read his work at an open mic. Now she is keeping her word. It's her way of keeping him alive or maybe it's his way of…
|
1334 0 0
|
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
|
1334 0 0
|
It’s the Tea, stupid. Drink up.
|
1334 8 4
|
His legs were pedaling hard and his heart was beating fast, He's got his scars; He can't outrun his past, Down the hill he goes, wind whipped his hair, a new style with each draft. He broke his brakes long ago; He cut the cable and ripped off the pads. He cried…
|
1334 7 3
|
Granddad listened to Elvis and then he would talk more or less the entire night. “Mystery Train” was Sam Phillips' song. Then Presley recorded it, but did it up different, sounded much faster so you could feel your hair blow back a bit. …
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1334 10 4
|
Contest rules are simple. Two teams of five hunters each are established by drawing from pools of interested volunteers and selected prison inmates confined for capital crimes and illegal immigration.
|
1334 1 0
|
4. If you wear size 13, you'll trip a lot.
|
1334 11 5
|
Somewhere in the belly of the beast
something was stirring.
|
1334 2 1
|
My mind is on idle as it knows no other way to go. I look for good news, but if there is any, will I be able to process it?
|
1333 2 1
|
Q: Tell me briefly about how you got into the death industry.
|
1333 2 2
|
The next morning Grandpa said the body was gone, no one explained to him the situation, when he asked about her they all simply said, “Scarltanua”.
|
1333 10 9
|
Your tunamelt cadence / Sank me to ocean floors
|
1333 14 13
|
Let me say these words now
|
1333 4 0
|
She stood for a moment to think about what happened inside.
She had just killed her husband of twenty three years.
|
1333 9 6
|
She heads toward the end of the island and doesn't look back.
|
1333 3 3
|
Tokarsky and I got chased off an El train by a couple of mean-looking black dudes who looked like they were going to crush us. I let go a spritz of tear gas that I had on me in the train and we ran as it came to a stop at the Morris Street stop. They chas
|
1333 5 4
|
Writing opens doors to perception. For example, the glockenspiel smells of gardenias, but the catwalk is opening a can of Franklin stove. It emits fumes of fairyland and olive. And in the green and pleasant country of Scotland and England, vintage trains go…
|
1333 2 2
|
Fall came early that year. The edge in the air wasn't just the cold, raw wind cutting down the street — the unity and collective embrace briefly shared after September 11th had faded. The weight from…
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