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Preacher Alphonse Jicklo

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Samson was also somewhat in hopes that his son Jason would become engaged in this minor capitalist enterprise and 'turned around' in his life.

last attempt at innocence

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When we were leaving to go to the ice rink, Lynda surprised all of us by saying she wanted to come along. She slid all the way over in the front seat to be next to me, while one of my buddies, Miller, who had his eye on her himself, slid into the passen

Turning Heads

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Crows cawed, kvetched.

Breaking And Entering

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Do you know what it is to crave something? Of course you do. But this was different. This was beyond craving.

Away From the River

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Tiny poem

Five Million Yen: Chapter 26

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Ben gagged after shot-gunning the scotch. He hiccupped and it came back up through his nose. He grabbed a napkin and caught most of a shot and a half of Whyte & MacKay as it poured out his nose.

Professor University

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Is this a tenure track position?

Snowdrop White

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We light cigarettes, take turns putting them out on each other's arms, legs, anywhere hard without a mark. It's living, he says, it's better to know you're alive than feel nothing at all. My brother is two years older than you, I was thinking on Tuesday,…

Anselm Kiefer Painting, 1

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The damaged sky is not more black than your hair, Ashen tonight and floating over the land in blackened Smoke, where the furrows run with milk light Or snow, blue and white, and the world-ash floats. Your patient body sleeps and the white pain

The Thing on Marlow Street

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After all, if she could get through World War II with no more than a couple of letters and numbers on her arm, she could, sure as hell, get through this.

Bird Words

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a thinking man's bird high above coated with scent of life

Match Book Covers

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We all wish to partake in great events.

Drunk and Driving the Family Home

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I felt like-

Land Fill at Morning

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The gulls/ have somehow mastered the art// of avoiding the nooses of six-pack/ plastic rings

The Walk of Shame

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There it was One abandoned high heel shoe on the sidewalk Could have been Some kind of robbery Though Maybe it was just The beginning of the Walk of shame

War Story: Veteran of a foreign war

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"Did you see any action?" I ask, hoping for a story. He points to a scar ripping through the chevron on his left arm but says nothing.

It Began With The Waffles

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It began with the waffles, well first there were the potholders, but really the problem was the waffles. I don't even think she knew she was making waffles; much less that she had lost her potholders in the trash can the day before. But nonetheless the real issue here was…

For One Group of Boys, Donated Cars Mean a Way Out

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The glamour of living in the Rebuilt Engine Capital of the World is meaningless to the young boys who roam its crowded streets after school, desperately looking for something to take their minds off their homework.

SUNRISE

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There is a false dawn, when night still holds sway, but tempered with promise; anticipation.

Rabbit Trail

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Sorrow fences with fear and questions

Something Wrong

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Her questions apparently had their desired effect.

Leaky Guts

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One day, Dasha confessed to Igor that she had an incurable illness: Purple emptiness.

I Don't Know Why People Still Read These Things

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POETRY IS DEGENERACY / IS A DISGUSTING HABIT

The Prodigal Son

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A minute later, a shadow appeared across the left-hand page of the book.

The Judge's Wife Part 7

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—A little blood puts some life into the work, said the old artisan smiling.

Not Even

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That’s not just a trinket on her finger, that’s a rock, a fortress, a castle. No one can scale those walls except Joe Sixpack, slumped beside her at the airport. They’re not a match. I give it 5 years, max. Not even. Joe

The Inconsequential Leaping of Rabbits

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If someone were to place a rabbit in her lap right now, there would be nothing she could do to hold onto it. It would leap. Drop. Hie its powerful body elsewhere. At the end of her life she would have nothing to show but a collection of rabbit-shaped empt

Departures

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Fingers scrabble idly at pocket seams, forage between teeth, grasp for tepid cups, patter a drumbeat on knees.

Improvisation on a few lines by Mark Strand

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I am tripping on poetry. Purple ink drips from my eyes like ergot of rye.

A Rare Meteor Shower

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Now, as we sat on lawn chairs / on the balcony to watch the meteor shower