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We Are Not Alone

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The bank bought out the miles of land behind our property.

Refugees

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Somebody left CNN on all night long until the news cycle flipped, crashed and burned in its own ruins

Project Undeath (Work in Progress)

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The moon bulges with meticulous sick amber fire while first night’s chest heaves and sputters free infantine monstrosity from plague-wormed hovels, din mold choked grottos, and stale metal-cast labyrinth catacombs.

Exploring Physics

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Our half-life, radioactive decay, particles shed leaving dust and bone."twilight years", "golden age", "evening of life"?Bullshit. I'm not ready to stop pumping high octane.You said, "I'll take you to Paris."Hemingway's address is still in your notebook, I saw it.I'll wear…

Life After Les Miz

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There are many ways to cope effectively with your life after a Les Miserables run, and everyone is different, but here are some things that have helped others work through the process.

My Daughter On Wolf Hill Farm

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I survived as a brave thought,

My Bunny Hop Years

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The Bunny Hop represented that riot-like atmosphere–in cuddly guise–described by Claude Levi-Strauss in his seminal essay that I have forgotten the name of it’s so important.

(Yet Another) Mask

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In frustration, he picked up a hammer and slammed it straight into the center of the mask.

instead

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instead of gun metal deceit, sounds of malice;be a drop of rain.

The Mission of Dimitri Kastratitov

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A nuclear-plant fuel rod engineer, Dimitri Kastrotov, had an axe to grind, so invented an atomic deterrent, to counterbalance mankind. He targeted the filthy rich, greedy sons of a bitch, breeding war, weapons and nukes at a reckless fever pitch After …

Duration and Frequency

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for spirits and demons have no life/ but what imagination gives

Retinue

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the view is breathtaking here.

A Girl You Couldn't Hurt

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He started to concentrate on the music again. It was the album with the crazy picture of Monk on the cover, with a machine gun over his shoulder, a tied-up Gestapo officer and a female resistance fighter standing next to—a cow.

A Flat Sheet and One Standard Pillowcase

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this is your hair, this is your stare, this is your voice

Random Little Linguistic Discharges

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Eat the Body/ Drink the Blood/ Perfect the sacrifice,

Minnie Mouse Meets Mickey at a Convention of Phrenologists

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A parody of John Ashbery I have been preconditioned likewise by the ligatures of the roof. It has bypassed even the lightning. When I started this essay I (poetics equalling dissemination, like a toilet plug) admired, and I in the book produced…

Politics

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These days, you seem to disappear like bread tasted and devoured

Nothing Ever Stays Looking

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The same, some things you Can't explain, most trees Have felt it go bone dry at the roots before. I've learned to let love Go bye bye. You think they don't Want to answer your pathetic knocks, But they're…

Sunday Storms

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Poems reflect their poets. / Mine: ugly but loved. / It is just as well.

bloodletting and the strobe of hearts

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the injured color wheel of the world

small pleasures

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sheets, white, coarse redolent with Clorox

Shovels and Honeysuckles

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When she would leave my pillows still smelled like her. I would just inhale her for hours afterwards, sex and honeysuckles.

Sunday Morning Series- 5: On Divine Intervention

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What does God find abhorrent?

Painted

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By the time she reached home, dinner would be there in thirty minutes, on the table. Not a lively table, just politeness, and calm. There were no issues of the day that needed discussing, no problems to be solved.

It's the New Age of Bullshit

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They’re young and haughty. 27’s still a long ways off. They read about the famous, not the dead. Dusty dragonflies will not land upon them, and they are really only in love with the dishwasher. Now there’s a problem. Poetry is dead,

The Tiger Who Jumped Over the Moon

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Lord knows we all tried to stop him from doing it. You're crazy we said. This makes you look like a lunatic. They'll hunt you down in even heavier droves now. You've upset their delicate memories. I tried to stop him. That's cow territory my friend…

Ode to an Afro (or Going Natural in a Corporate World)

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In praise of the colorful flock with crowns of teased cotton candy rising high above Modular walls, stalled operating systems staling coffee and pale corner offices

YMCA

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absolute bullshit

The Devil’s Troubadour

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The Devil’s laugh was the screech of wind. Ignacio Carillo heard Him as he dug the grave that would hold the body of his beloved wife.

Pigs Fly

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You are rounded just the way the mountain is, out the window. The sun sets on both of you now. Three of you, I should say: the mountain, and you, and little Frank, who is currently batting my ear because he doesn't want to be named Frank but it's for your dead father,…