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With a madman’s laugh, she realized her mistake and discarded it as irrelevant.
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Im in bed.
Bed.
I look at the word bed written on the screen.
Bed.
It looks like bad but not quite.
Bed-Bad.
Bad-Bed.
I have a bad bed. Lets say my bed is bad.
It is a bed to the extent that it is bad. It is not good, it is bad. It is a bad bed.
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Poets die every day but are seldom in position to put the experience to literary merit.
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for Tracy ThornYou don't need a song about fixed stars, you needa reason to be glad stars are here. Themoon's always been around, but not always like the friend you want,until now. Don't throw it all away becauseyou are too sad to care. You've come into your own. Allthings…
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One fine afternoon a few months after her husband's death, Susan awoke in the porcelain tub of her gigantic, empty house with: two champagne bottles, one only half-empty; a Xanax bottle, completely empty; and a loaded gun, which was most startling
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I bow my head
and shed the antlers
of past lives
I no longer butt heads
with the universe
but I miss my curse
and can’t do worse
I throw myself in reverse
and rehearse the early scenes
of science and my
full meat diet
that sent
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I remember one afternoon when Terry and I did it in broad daylight in a nearby park in Lombard, or Glen Ellen. This was after we had broken up already and I was seeing Jolene, I think, before leaving to go out to my writing program at U.C. Irvine. It wa
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For the new year, I´ve given up palm oil.
Made shopping a whole lot harder.
Damn orangutans tugging at my conscience.
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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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Lilly was anything but a white flower. Her skin had been blackened and burnt. Charred legs and arms stuck out like tiny tree limbs, the knuckles on her fingers barely covered by skin. The child’s face is frozen in the beginnings of a scream. She seems anc
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I’d like to say we didn’t remember the Alamo, but one of ours had to piss. We ran into youknowwho and he was fighting Mexicans and it was so beautiful and there were fireworks, or else it was God’s wrath, or else it was the sky now.
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But the things I do know are the ways we've changed since we'd fallen into each other.
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Imagine this: One day you are walking down the street (wearing your protective mask, of course, the cloth one you bought the other day because you liked the color and design) when, by chance, you happen upon a strange sight.
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I, Seer of the Stars, Cartographer of the Cosmos, / measure my mass, and to whom do I owe this woe...
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Love is easy when all is going well, but it is one of life’s profound, humbling lessons that few people love you enough to wipe your butt.
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Her Facebook profile was bursting with persistent prenatal posturing. She adored the adoration. And now Mrs. Davison’s pregnancy was almost over. This was her big, overblown, look-at-me-everyone, mind boggling finish!
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It is our gift-- the knowing/
without knowing--/
that allows us transport,
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no rule says an imaginary friend has to be a good one
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Keep it quick (and they usually did) and it was simple.
Quick as the walk between their houses, from number 27 to number 33 (odd numbers only), and simple as the alibi.
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Since I have never found any mention of children that you may have had in your writings, I've been a little reluctant to tell you this story. It may be a touchy subject for you...I don't know. It's a lot of conjecture on my part, but there's one indispu
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After it is over, I go out into the world, to the café. The flower sellers are setting up their booth outside the glass doors. Classical guitar over the speakers. A soft rain falling. Heads bowed, reading the news. Coffee, croissants, cappuccino. This g
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1189 2 1
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Every spring, outside on the back deck, my mother and I have the same talk about how time flies, and she always waves her hand in the air as if swatting at a fly, but there's never anything there. She thinks the lilies will live all summer spread like a rainbow,…
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Dan Arris sat in Chez Colette enjoying a roulade of veal stuffed with root vegetables. He was not a happy man.
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Hungover on the intangible ideas of a teenager in high school.
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Miranda laughed. The cream of the retail industry laughed...
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With the sudden thrust//
of April green, we can forget/
our drought continues.
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Lucy entered the open door next; she had been inside the cat litter house before: Brother Fran didn’t bother to cover turds he’d laid. He spoke of the outdoors: lizards he’d separated from their heads, world of work.
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Of red snappers, flaccid on porcelain slabs...
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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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