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The Sound of Barcelona

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There’s no obvious difference between two years ago and now but it’s not the moment to contemplate the reason for the racket or why it took so long. Instead, it’s the time to renounce atheism and thank God that the noise has finally finished

Thanksgiving

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Ted rose and began searching cushions of the bad furniture in his loft (Monte's loft, if you thought in terms of leases and rent and who had his shit together). Three shineless quarters in the yellow vinyl chair, a dime in the heater, nineteen cents in t

Nunc Stans

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I missed the cadence and remembered the verse too late. Now, that place where everything comes together is a first taste of things that have somehow become slightly bitter, and I was choking on it.

The Bridge

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The Chicago River is an artery of great renown in the history of the city, and it connects the lower waterways that lead to the town of Lockport and beyond. Near the old neighborhood where I used to live, the river divides the district, from Chinatown, do

Midnight Snack

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I was about to answer when that something emerged from the woods. It was not an animal, after all, but a woman dressed all in brown. She ap­proached our porch windows. I shuddered and turned away. But her com­ing was inevitable. When I turned back, she

The Other Side

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That was the first time I went over the wall. No bird opened its mouth to chirp. No wind blew. I staggered a little on the stony edge. And dropped down. I changed in a cafe. Shaved. Emerged as that rare thing: a new man. My clothes were old, saved for

| To Sew the Night Together, At Last | (A hybrid essay)

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____________________________________I get an internet connection and send this poem out in haste: Drugs, New Orleans…

Let the Others Drool

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They are all sleeping, but I know better. I will keep watch and if he comes tonight I will be alert and ready. When he arrives he'll see the slack mouths, the graceless sprawls, hear the grunts, snorts and snores of the other women and then he'll sense me. My eyes will…

You Don't Take Names

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You want to know what happened to him and your curiosity is a cat pawing at the edges of your impatience as you roam aggressively around your old haunts.

Living Guilt-Free in These United States

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Back when Richard was still skinny and mean, we fought at The Island. He broke a pool stick over my head. I bruised more than his ego. We fought over a woman, as always. We were best friends and that’s what we did. W

1946, What I wanted..

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I wanted to sit in class in Iowa next to Flannery as she recited that first story that stopped the world with an accent so dense with dogwood we had to strain to collect every word.

Pastoral Hide & Seek

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The sea dies where a cello torques on sand, leaving me without its compass. An old clock sings.

A Prayer to the Porcelain God

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In her cleavage, Mark is able to discern a golden heart with the image of an arrow piercing it. A bow is super-imposed over both. “I see you are a devotee of Cupid.” Mark states. “I notice that you are a follower of Bacchus.” Diana winks.

Children are always beautiful

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“Your children are beautiful,” she said, handing back his wallet after removing several bills. Her mouth was fringed by bitten-off melon lipstick, a calm kind of mad. She told him to call her Sally, “like the song McCartney rips his lungs on.” She…

Sympathy

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“Are you afraid?” he asked. “No,” she said. “I’m thrilled.” “Thrilled?” “Yes, I’m thrilled that something is happening to me. It’s been such a long time since anything has happened. I was getting really bored, but this is great.

Jack Kerouac, Republican Party Hero

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Mr. Kerouac is the author of On the Road, Big Sur, and numerous other works that defined the Beat Generation, and he's the foremost drunken writer of his time to embrace conservatism.

Before

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The last time they made love she could feel the hint of pain and loss which would become her.

An Ancient Symbol for Fire

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If you could look out to either side of you, you'd see the signs. Restricted Area, Danger Keep Out.

Angels

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Not everybody sees Father. Not Mom, not Dad, not even my little brother, Andre, and he see lots of things. Me, I need to.

The Undertakers of the Dead by Unseen Hands(Young Poet at the Bus Stop with Some new Vinyl in his Hand)

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"The truth isn't always beauty, but the hunger for it is.'--Nadine Gordimer Other things do matter just as much of course. Of course they do. Hey I'm still kind of alive inside this poem here. At least I'd like to think so, so yes another…

No Pretty Boy

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Janice liked me being in the closet while she brought dudes home from the Mack. We both liked it, but sometimes, sitting on that folding chair for that twenty minutes among her clothes, all perfume-stanky and leather-smell, it felt like the whole world wa

Last Night On Oil Street

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Tomorrow the authority smashes. Tonight we march, splash, carve letters in wet paint from room to room until steel blades bend. The letters will tilt in shadows gliding over the walls to mask our tales born of fractured wrists and the ghosts, our keepers.

A Black Night

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The hairs on my arm lift with the breeze; a haunting breath from the open window carrying night-scented stock from the black-shrouded garden.

The Empty City - Chapter 1 - Early Summer

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Every day the trains transported the young and successful and the not so young and less successful who belonged to the five buildings.

The Getting of Ignorance

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It was too late to be eponymous. I was happy enough to be an emulator. But even then, my ideas were nothing but re-runs of re-runs. Like a high-school production of Macbeth.

The Way Home

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I’m in the Grand Central Station bar-- the one at the top of the stairs-- waiting for my husband to enter so I can watch him. The bar is crowded, everyone getting in that last beer before heading back to whiney children and tired spouses.

Good Country. People.

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Initially, she had no hopes about his impending arrival, scrawny as he was, until realizing that, because he was a boy, because he was new around here, he might want to wrestle.

Finnegan teoriza la practica de cuerdas

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Canta el Hombre...canta una canción que guarda una llamada. Está invitando a Dios a venir. Mas cuando canta una canción que guarda el recuerdo de un camino hacia una casa sin muros ni cercado, cuando cada vibración actúa como un minúsculo paso hacia ese hogar sin…

Ghost

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You want to be there, but not noticed. Alive, but not too alive. Because that's how you feel every day. Like an apology with legs.

My Shasta Daisy

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I lay on grass warmed by the sun Somehow the breeze finds Its way between my toes I gaze at your beauty Standing alone in between Blades of green grass Is Shasta My Daisy I watch you dance As the wind teases and blows I watch you stand tall …