1139 1 1
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I love you, I said. A beautiful smile struggled through the pain. But I love you more.
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The toilet paper had been the least of the issue. It was just something else for her to yell about. See, what she was really upset about was the bank account. The bank account had been his, then theirs, and now it was his again.
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1139 0 0
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CHAPTER ONE About nine-thirty P.M. on Friday night, Mary Fowler pushed her grocery cart through the double sliding glass doors. It was three weeks before Christmas. The sun had set and the temperature had begun to cool rapidly in…
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I dig with no light to guide the aim of my shovel but the stars peeking through the trees which are fuller now then when you went away.
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Take a flying leap?Mother would never agreeSo away from the campground we sneakTo show the boy where I was a boySummer day shirtless with swimsuits onOne hundred degrees walking through the treesThe season early with winter runoffWater here still seventy feet deepHoping the…
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Over the last 30 days we have seen a radical decrease in our revenue stream. Our Q3 earnings fell dramatically short of what we had projected, and as a result the leadership team has had to look at some difficult cost-reducing measures.
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1139 2 0
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During the night and in the fog of halfsleep Ben shifted and felt the weight of Miranda gone from him, the bed empty. In the quiet of the house he thought he heard a footstep and the soft shutting of a door, and as his eyes searched the dark he…
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My man’s got a habit that’s kinda strange.
I’ve got a feeling he’s never gonna change.
Whenever I take a trip,
when I git back, my underwear’s ripped.
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He was a Decembrist but he was not / one of the hanged
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Mike Summer's moustache was perfect. Hard bristle and so symmetrical it looked cut to the angles of a military imperative. He was pretty proud of it, thought the team of beaters, who watched him as he sat on the boot ledge of his sage green Mercedes 123 T, combing…
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The world follows me everywhere. I can’t get rid of it. I’m being stalked by a planet.
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today
somewhere by water
this photograph of a woman
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Although I'm twenty years older than her, my girlfriend has called me "jailbait" for the past year and a half because she says the only way to stop having to share me is to kill my wife..
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Dread and drudgery sour each day
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I have hate and it is black not midnight, crisp fresh clear. Unadulterated. It is dirty, poor, gritty solid rough like unripe stone fruit. A peach, mealy and dry. The killing, effete, endures. Silent, my repugnance, sick, eats…
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What it was for, didn’t matter. When Susan walked into Fred’s house every few weeks and start talking, he’d just nod and say, “Sure, I know how tough it is out there, baby.” Then they’d drink some wine and put on some music, and he’d give her a little mon
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Tread acres and acres of aches
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If I was a bum
I’d risk everything
For a drink or a smoke.
I would beg and curse and steal
If I was a bum.
If I was a bum
I would cuss out the Pope.
I would not vote for anyone
Because I would know truly
They’d be telling gross lies.
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I wanted those jelly rolls so bad I could scream
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Getting up and reading his poem
The stuffy poet sitting back down
On the leather couch, which creaks under his weight
After adjusting his narrow tie from the 1980’s
The stuffy poet clearing his throat, twice,
During an enemy’s reading
The s
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It was an autumn day, late in the afternoon, a Tuesday, when the last murderer died. There was no official announcement. Indeed, she and her crime had been forgotten. Pancreatitis, her cause of death. Quite treatable, the cancer. Nothing could be done for the gene that…
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the impression I had gotten of him was that he was fifty percent yuppie and fifty percent drug dealer from Marin.
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The way I figure it, mom wasn't worth a shit. I'd cry when she hit me but she'd just keep pounding. When I was seven, she burned a hole in my back. It happened one day at the fair. We were walking around. She didn't have any money so all we could do was walk. I had…
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they could be barefoot bastard children
for somebody else to clothe
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I have constructed this emotion with tinfoil and stilts. I wear the mask of a typewriter. I have roots in Minnesota. I have a glass hat and a junkyard monstrosity pregnant with parables.
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My memory is like tracks in the snow. My memory is cookie dough. My memory is dirty tube socks.
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When I was nine years old, I fell through the rotting
boards that covered my grandmother's cesspool and nearly
drowned.
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lift my love and be lifted
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