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Ciel’s eyes trembled at how this all could have happened. With tears falling down her cheeks, all senses of hope disappeared.
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On his knees in front of the transplant board, he pleaded for his ailing heart, spluttering on its last dying beats, to be replaced with a bomb.
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An hour later, we're no closer to the tunnel. In our rental car, we're just two in a school of a thousand fish skimming the edge of the island. Go with the flow, we keep saying to each other. We're just going with the flow. …
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The cicadas hissed and chirruped until the air was thick with a noise like mechanical bedsprings bouncing for the 4th of July.
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Now that you can go to a body shop and get nearly any mod you can imagine printed and attached in about an hour, every cracker-ass redneck is sporting a twelve-point rack...
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For so long as I think I shall live.
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we’ll never win/
the ongoing battle with dirt.
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White, hot pain shot runs from her through the wires, ending at the laptop, leaving a background buzz in her head.
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felt as if someone had pulled me in by the belt, or grabbed me by a knot in the hair, and kissed me with fire-engine lips. I was happy. I was in love.
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The goal is to perform along with Jason Lee Norman--who is touring with his book of very short stories called Americas--a selection from my own collection called Country Without a Name. The symmetry excites me.
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No, your clever costume won’t protect you.
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Reverend Peter Roman could stand it no more. He stopped his speech. He felt a fire burning through him, a hatred for humanity and all the weaknesses of beings not perfect before God. He stood a long while, staring at the congregation. Then, he slowly spok
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Précis Summer. Far from beautiful Prague, with its buzzing nightlife and pulsating, noisy crowds; away from the stamp, sway and spin, the odour of bodies, beer and cheap perfume; from the opulence and grandiose beauty, we sleep…
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All I ask is that the guy has teeth and an income. More important are the teeth because he can always get a job, but he can’t un-rot the teeth he’s lost to meth.
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I scrambled back a bit and found my feet after untangling them from my trekking poles. Really should have dropped those when this all started. The bear lunged at me with his teeth and I just barely dodged to the left to avoid getting something bitten of
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how much is downed/
to counteract the down/
with deeper down.
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But you're everywhere, how can I move on? It's so easy for people to say, Get over it, the ‘it' being the smell of your skin, your smile, the taste of your lips, always sweet and salty, like a carnival treat. Remember that neon night when we knew it was over, how we…
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My dish was slut ("all done" in Swedish). It tasted good though aroused no draft, of mutton, for example. My grandparents' bed held flat. I filed alone, in realist kitchen, reading Froeding, standing, striding, continent as gym.
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before five/glancing down Academy Street/sloping west to where the tracks crossed/twisted tangled metal on wheels.
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Night LifeThen things started getting weird. I could give you a time frame but it was back when times didn't matter really, one hour as good as the next and the minutes used to be minutes not the digital counting that makes this crazy world now spin. Here was…
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They strung him up, stowed on the balcony, and beat him with sticks, and beat him with rocks, and bent his muscles, …
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Our trouble decided when the CUNY PhD student, a poet, cried out, “Racination!” during discussion of my poem.
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Threads of sadness in the hands, in the touch
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“You know, Miss Viv, I love looking at the sun when it’s almost gone. It kinda looks like an orange and apple squished together. Those are the colors. And the puffy clouds under it look like a bed. It’s going to sleep."
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“After your death is confirmed,” I assured him, “a hardcover first edition of your books, will sell for millions at auction in New York.
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What the hell is going on out here!? Yelled the man with the shotgun
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A precious heart unfolding the joy within
Carefree play marked footsteps skipping along the way
Such wonders untold awaiting a time of promise
Stilled in the night by a grasping hand
Held down in silence fear feeds off this soul
Marking its to
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Welcome back to our ongoing coverage of what we mean when we say "Tsunami: A Very Bad Thing."
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