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The son stood on the porch with his grip packed. "I'm off to mine me a fortune a gold, Daddy." "Boy, there's a fortune in gold right here," said the father, indicating the ripe wheat, glowing in early morning sun. The kid slumped. "Pop, you turn over a rock there,…
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Here is a not remembering
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Listening too much to the night, with its whistles, bright lights of luminescent bursts like leaves on fire, or the raised ear of a cow in the purple mist, or the curled tail of a pig foraging in the night.
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From my office window, I watch the trains roll in and out of the city. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of passengers staring out windows as the train slows, the ones who have another destination. I've been on those trains before, ones that took me far away from all that…
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My writing career began with sitting around the tree eating Christmas presents.
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when I said good morning I meant
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Speaking in tongues
untranslatable,
they move in experimental spacesuits,
uneasy in the other's gravity.
(To say nothing of the difficulty of dancing.)
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This year, instead of giving roses or candy for Valentine's Day, why not give something your spouse will never forget.
A brand new divorce!
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We drank beer and played loose pool, attracted two fun girls, one Jamaican, the other dirty blonde, both of whom seemed interested in only one of the four of us.
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—A little blood puts some life into the work, said the old artisan smiling.
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I saw blood. The walls of the bar were completely covered in red shag carpeting. Had I been thrown back in time to the Seventies? It felt as if I had entered Hell itself. No, this was not Hell. This was the Aryan-Brotherhood's version of the movie Shaft. I…
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We continue,/Held beyond all surface
Liking it still/And each other/Often surprised:/Like finding garden flowers/No one planted/In summer bloom
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She rubs her head into mine...
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. . . I just didn’t think to call the mortician from the phone outside the grocer’s store, how gauche that would have sounded to any passers-by, a call to a mortuary from outside a grocer’s store!
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never have i wanted/ to stay in one place long,/ flight inspired to escape/ existential ennui--
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We are nerds. We are Legion. We do not forgive. We do not forget. Expect us bitch.
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Writers, in general, enjoy the solitude that their profession allows, or more precisely, requires. I consider myself a member of that generalized group, along with a more exclusive club of writers who also tolerate an occasional…
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She told me it had been there since she was a kid, this large black spot like a blimp floating from her right arm up to the tip of her neck. She had really pale skin so she kinda looked like a cow strutting down the street.
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For some reason in my daydream he would use the formal “ma'am” to approach me, despite the fact that we were in a swarm of sweaty grunting men in the basement that smelled like feral animal feces and jock straps.
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“This horrible street. I hate this neighborhood,” she cursed.
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lift my love and be lifted
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the silence of the hardwood floors
blisters into fragments
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Last night, but not really night, I woke up to a huge clattering crash! I reached for my weapon (wouldn't you like to know) and jumped out of soft and cozy, holding myself in my best "I'm-not-afraid-of-you" stance.
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Soul? Who's got soul? That nothingness that holds us together, between the spaces, in and out of the cracks in our minds and bodies. The soul weighs something, you know. It's been proven. Some guy did a study where he weighed people before and after death, and they weighed…
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The boy in the elevator with round glasses, /
who carried a newly-purchased broom, /
was tall and burdened with clothes
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Something is clearly wrong with them and we're supposed to socialize them.
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Minimalist/realist short-story writer Raymond Carver was fired from his job as an editor of science textbooks because of his inappropriate writing style.
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