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Parallel Structures

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He gave her his driving range and she gave it back. She didn’t know what a bogey was. Arms akimbo he smiled and licked the China cat by the window.

The Dolly Boys

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I have a fascination with Dickens and London and this was inspired by my next novel.

The Second Confession

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Most people come to dislike me because of the things I say.

Old Photograph Stuck Between Documents

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I spent the evening looking at our old pictures. / We were never happy. I realize that now.

5 Poems In The Shape Of Other Poems

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the things we will accomplish, the things we will leave to others

She’s Dead

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Hank: Yeah, the way her head was bashed in, it looks like someone really had it in for her. Did you call the coroner? Bill: Yeah. Boy, you couldn’t pay me enough to do the stuff those coroner and medical examiner guys do. It seems like

visionary

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let it lie

She mentioned prayer in the Øilslick.xxx ZipperPoems

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We transplant helix° splices and shoot back to meet our former selves, zip the scrolls, and save the world. Then you said spin so I twisted my jumper over and over in endless folds like lips, like vaginas, like seacreatures

The Hitler Channel

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The sound of a siren approaches his home. His wife asks him why he's so nervous. It's nothing, he says, but he rises from the couch and peers into the night from behind the curtains. The siren approaches relentlessly. The road twists and turns and the sound fades but always…

Dust to Dust

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He began to chop the powdery substance and separate it into segments.

Edward Ogle the Dickinson

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Hope is the thing playing checkers

bloodletting and the strobe of hearts

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the injured color wheel of the world

My Daughter On Wolf Hill Farm

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I survived as a brave thought,

Snoopy Calling

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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.

When Deer Attack

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Carla woke up from her hospital bed screaming. "Somebody please help me. Please save me. I am begging you."

BACK IN THE USSUSSUSSR

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It was on the Fake News today, Oh boy They built a bridge from Alaska to Siberia Called the Bridge Over Troubled Waters Instead of a wall And Putin came riding bareback on a pink unicorn Into the White House and renamed it The White Horse,

Dreams Bright White Smash

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She was there then gone then there again. We were naked and wet and touching, she let me touch her, but she didn't want to be there. But she was, despite herself. It was my dream. You can go if you want. …

Memoir 2.0

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His friend Boner, who was more accurately a friend of Milo, who was a friend of his cousin in Dubai and who had, up until this post, seemed to share thoughts in common with him, posted, “Holy Shit, Dude! What’re You On?”

our ragged wits, ragged minds

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Our ragged wits, ragged minds, after acting out all, imitating all honey-like tunes, air song, excellence of song, true flower of the world. So the sun has some of its honey wintered away, to bring it into contact with such a human voice as yours.

Tidbit

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By dawn, she is ready to hunt.

A Conversation on an Empty Balcony

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I go with the wind, like the smoke of this Marlboro red as it dances among the palm trees.

Friends

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The boy stared out his window, noting the suns slow and eventual passing behind the distant mountains. He saw his face reflected in the window pane and turned away. His shadow loomed…

Mark Twain's Typewriter

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Did I refer to Mark Twain’s typewriter as an animal? Did I call it a hyena? I would not say that about Mark Twain’s typewriter.

Having

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I guess it was, you know, a daze thing: He, lightly drunk, turning red in parts of his head, in his cheeks mostly, and his chest, to which my eyes were drawn because of his v-neck douchebag shirt; and I, sleepy beyond belief, sustained like a zombie only

Some Things Can't Be Fixed

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Orchids strewn over the floor...

Linda Vs. Sound

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Normally, after her shift, Linda would make herself a latte, untie her apron, and study at one of the tables. That evening, however, KEXP kept playing songs with grating guitar riffs, and loud laughers were everywhere. She chugged her coffee, burning her tongue. Then, she…

exile on and off the road

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had I gotten home without knowing it? well . . .

The Zone of Forgotten Things

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In the zone of forgotten things, everything moves through a weak gravitational field

afternoons

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i think god composed afternoons with crayons

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 26

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Friday afternoon. Angelique Brody knocked Francesco’s studio door.