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Sphynx Clara

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A brick from the parapet splat down later as I was applying a bitter healing powder, made from the seeds of watermelons, to my raw tongue.

specter in transit

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at the front of the bus/ sways a white-veiled woman:/ gnarled hands upon/ a bag of palms,

Menelaus Supporting Patroclus

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He remembers, he touches, he lifts and kisses the mouth.

Mutual Respect

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Then, relieved to have cleared the air, they peacefully returned their way of living.

Men's Hair circa 2000

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When Beez and I were visiting D.C., Beez saw MDW after many years and said, almost so that MDW could hear him if he wished, “His hair looks like Beethoven’s.”

Credenza

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Now the house is empty of romance except a potted flowering plant from my mother for Valentine's Day. No man has set foot in my museum since I moved here. One man has set foot. The owner's brother to see about the gasket under the toilet. The Comcast installers, twice. The…

The last sunny day. LUST

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I remember.

Obtaining Sophia

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My accordion's name is Sophia and she is from Italy. She was born in fairytale fashion, the way my life in Madrid can sometimes be. A great and nurturing friend gathered money from many friends in our village, to buy me an accordion for my birthday. It was…

Three : Sixteen

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We are a city of overworked workers.

Lucky in Love

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Clasped his hands behind his head to give a moment’s thought to love and how it had never quite clarified in his mind to run pure and sweet.

Almost There

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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

Shenanigans 4: mutual and selective congratulation

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" ... that’s a seriously good result for an opening night."

Survival

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When nothing's coming in All I have are fragments Cloudy memories Uncompleted projects Disappointments loom large and threaten to define me I am only as good as what I produce And now I feel empty So how do I shine How do I find the spark that…

Nineveh

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My heart was a puzzle completely incomplete, until I learned of love in your embrace.

Cannabis Emerges, Rampant

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What the hell is going on out here!? Yelled the man with the shotgun

Zum is one instance of "um" herein

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Millennium jumped strumming lithium gum cumulative outnumber humiliated résumé jumpy instruments

Licking Secrets Clean

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The mannequin’s blind eyes, open, green, serene, Look away from the cross, her hand Against our crotch, against Our suffering, our agony of being Alive and beating warm.

Tierra del Fuego

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my time there was not one afternoon not / one river not one tunnel not one falling

Day Off Work

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My time glass allocation nears its end.

Fur licking City Cats

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Howling, prowling, yowling Baby Dykes, stalkin' chicks, throwin' fits, takin' hits! A thousand thigh divin', rosebud nipped, fur licking dancin' cats, (Claws in, claws out! Yes!) sniffin' that cradle of love.

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…

Domestic Sketches

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The cats sniff at the small opening,/ one by one, in a furtive casualness./ They think the outside air is sweet

The New Lycanthropy

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Who remains after the aching night has departed into dawn and left us to week-old sleep

Border Town Dawn/There's a Momentary Cloud (Reach for the Sky)

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Border town meant one thing; we were caught up real good in the middle of something preternaturally dangerous; and understanding was at the very least a hundred miles or so away in either direction. All I…

Hey, Boys, Bandits!

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I remember one time that summer I was with you (1964) going to a bar in maybe it was Melrose Park, or Northlake, or somewhere along Roosevelt Road closer to Chicago, not as far as Cicero though. I went there with a crazy gear-head named Roger Hudson, wh

Wanderer and The Temple

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the odd stone stands/taller than trees/it protrudes from the young forest/an old mecca but smooth

Sunday Storms

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

The Cowboy of My Heart

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I. The cowboy of my heart rides high in the saddle. Behind him, the long tail of his speeding palomino, golden — like the hair to the girls I was later to want so desperately — stands straight out from his sweating, muscular haunches. It's time.…

Johnny Bruzzone: Pool Hustler

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I was a coward and didn’t want to get killed like Heimley. Heimley was a nut at high school. I saw him myself one night put his hand right through the windshield of this car he was working on, along with a monkey wrench. Sure, he was drunk, but th

Desire

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The young monk rose early to jog, his appetites trailing like cats in heat.