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A Small Piece of the Night Life

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It made him feel better to imagine she was someone else, someone he didn't know. This comfort bothered him

I didn't ask for help

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I didn't ask for help

The Dolly Boys

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

Walking with the Moon

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I heard a voice. It was calling me as from a far-off cloud. I listened, holding my breath, and heard it again, though fading away, barely audible. If I hadn't known my name I wouldn't have decrypted it. Three hazy syllables clearly detached with a sigh between each of them.…

Гумилёв и Ахматова via странников

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Walking down an unfamiliar street, / I heard a sudden caw of crows, / some thunder afar, strums of a lute— / a streetcar came flying along.

Brief excerpt from the Fantasy thing I'm writing.

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Lucien Lucien Tidesquall lay almost sleeping amid the soft green grass. His eyes irradiated green midnight under vanquished brows. A plover hovered somewhere in the distance. It reminded him of a poem he had written as a teenager, a haiku that went as…

It's My Birthday

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and the President didn't call.

Pink

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Frank cut the tip of his finger off and it sort of shot over to the lettuce bin. The blood pumped out in tiny jets as he covered it with the palm of his other hand and ran to the sink. He pointed it in the sink and turned the water on, he could see…

Why Men Compete

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It starts on the Fallopian Speedway:

Dark Cave, No Candle

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Writing books is like raising children. You do your best, nurture them, discipline them, coddle them, feed them, patch up their injuries, sing to them, try to sell them, but no matter what you do, they are what they are.

Blonde on Blonde

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Happens at a party, this way, past frat boys perched in branches like idiot hoot owls,

Across from Margaret Atwood's House

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Been running so long You've been running so long I bet you can't remember What you're running from

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 47

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—Mr. Martinelli, can you explain how you developed your painting technique?

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. …

Kracton Commons

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Without light it is black.

Worth a Thousand Words

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He was triply satisfied: he’d come twice and he was a damn good-looking man.

OldSchool

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The gated community of Dos was named for one of Babbage’s landmark educational figures, Ms. Dos.

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

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Eva stepped out of the hut she and Javier shared and slogged through the mud toward the coop to fetch fresh eggs for Javier's breakfast. None existed. Javier became angry when he didn't get his eggs. Eva slowed her pace as she neared the door. She knew wh

Rapid Transit

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We’re on The Worm. I dread the part where the train goes under the bay. I hold my breath until we safely emerge.

Dirty Deeds

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Mustard stings the corner of his lips. He swipes it away with a finger, and looks closer at the hot dog. The piece of meat is ripped open like a sliced finger stuck in a doughy bandage

Sunrise

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The musician’s wife had a roving eye. He didn't care. He liked being married to a wild and crazy woman.

Zero

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The arithmetic of human experience/ is always a losing game for some. Poor Jane. Rich Dick.

the leisure to walk about sweetly

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You seemed to have that leisure to walk about sweetly when I was with you, honey-singing the reward for the intensity of emotion you lunged about in. Nothing seemed like it was going to hurt or harm anyone, even while I was going nuts between the legs.

EXHALE

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An excited state with undiscovered borders, the almost space -

A Love Letter To The Glasgow Transport System

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Skulk like a lovespun spider in a record store corner on the orange formica subway car

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 13

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Tuesday morning while Frank was in Dr. Jawarski’s office, Michiko was sitting in the waiting room of a gynecologist’s office.

Dust to Dust

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

two hendecasyllabic verse notes for Mr. S.

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mind heart soul will blood sweat tears muscle, and bone,/and then always something else—not more, just else . . .

Red and Blue Lines of the German Painter, Otto Dix

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They can’t help Seeing a child even there In the crude brushstrokes. They say it is me.

Edward Ogle the fourth

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Charted stars by the dozens / with a side of frizzle onions / dawn showers us with glitter.