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Al Capone was ruling the backstreets and alleyways of Chicago during Prohibition, and we lived in a little house right next door to a speak-easy. I could peak through our curtains and see right into the bar next door when cops came in to get pai
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so out to the night, and turning out the stars, so nothing can last, and nothing is taken in
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Fear I’ll be stuck here without a ladder
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Somebody left CNN on all night long
until the news cycle flipped, crashed
and burned
in its own ruins
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hangs inverted and
begins a swirling motion,
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It's morning, and the cold black hull of branches sets my resting pier, Amid this drizzle, underneath the poignant pain of birches, wrecked By floods of midyear grieving; wraithlike, Dawn's been becked To paint in shafts of faded rose that shades the fen…
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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.
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I’ve seen your tired souls
riding under the city
lost in the drowsiness
of morning calm commutes.
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No one saw him arrive at the half-moon garden just south of Delancey, no one saw him hang his cage from one of the drainage pipes, but by the time the rest of us got there, the bamboo frame was already covered with silky, golden cloth that reflected the e
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instead of gun metal deceit, sounds of malice;be a drop of rain.
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We wait for a server to bring our coconut cream pie. His favorite. I hate coconut.
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destinies bring me to a damned desert
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Expose those for whom freedom is greed.
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May is National Masturbation Month. How do I know? My pal Senior Sex Expert Joan Price is not only vigorously celebrating, but doing everything she can to spread the word.“I'm on it!” I assured her when she told me. “Thanks.”…
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They shoveled coal into the furnace of the city so the ghosts would be warm for their haunting.
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Darkness on my mind
doesn't make me blind.
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The English phrase "Nice to see you" translates into "My gall bladder is really warm today" in Berik, a language of New Guinea.
What Language Is, John McWhorter
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The walls of our shanty were of the standard corrugated rusty metal typical of communities like ours.We did our cooking over a Bunsen burner purloined from the Catholic Boys' School - beans mostly. We did our drinking from bottles of Thunderbird or Old Crow (when…
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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…
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Inspired by "The Dunwich Horror"" by H.P. Lovecraft, this excerpt concerns the events in the life of a man who is coming to the awareness that his son has followed in his grandfather's steps and begun the process of conjuring a spirit that killed him.
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On the phone I asked my mother how she was doing.
“I’m getting old,” she said. “Going slow. But getting there. I’m ninety-four!”
My mother was always 94, when she was really 93. I remember she was 93 right after she turned 92. And 92
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Reams of saggy bunting intersect the streets.
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“What the fuck!” Duke muttered, amazed at what he was seeing in the darkened store. A thin curtain of smoke was rising from under the baseboard like an inverted waterfall. It stretched the entire length of the left wall. Holy shit, the joint's on fire! I…
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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.
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It is just a little break from the colicky baby who has finally fallen asleep. Just a little break, maybe a half hour. And the faulty heater, that wolf at the door, knows that and will take his chance. The two of you are lying on your backs, both of yo
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"The rider rode his bike in Arizona just about every day and for all the usual reasons....."
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I remember a time when Calvin, my husband, was like Winnie the Pooh and I was a jar of fine Provençal honey. No amount of my sweetness could satisfy his craving for me. He would spread me on his toast with butter at breakfast and mix me with peanut butter
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Rain and wind and the pecking of birds
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