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"Time is an ocean, but it ends at the shore. You may not see me tomorrow."--Bob DylanThey're writing poems, but not for me. Guess I'll write one for my own. For nobody that I know now. It's a pretty lonely world for someone who sings, not you, not with…
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The ride home after Basketball and a little beer; That's when the best poems happen. Poems pin-prick sharp Puncturing through dulled Senses while streetlamps pass Overhead. They find their way inside you But they don't stick. Poems left back somewhere On the…
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If you want to be a writer, just write stuff.
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st. paul is steeped in fog.
mist and rain make the north side a grainy
faded photograph, almost timeless.
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At the Rest Home for Silence
We are teenagers
At best
I have to admit
I fell asleep on the bus
On the way to the Rest Home
For Silence
And I woke up
To the noise
Coming from the
Overfilled silence
It's the overfilled silenc
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The coffee filter rustles like the Pages of your notebook, which Only tires you even more. Make your drink strong to Make up for the lack of resolve In your shoulders, and Your weak promises. The familiar sound of percolation And you reach the…
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The woman wrings her hands again and again, reaching up to place one under her chin, then to her cheek as though there is some pending trepidation no one else can see...
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He sneezed Hit the wrong buttonDidn't mean to kill him,but he didHeld onto me then, cryingand could not stopI feel so awful, he sobbedHe was asking for mercyAnd I meant to say, "yes,I will spare your life,"but I hit the kill buttoninsteadIt was an accidentHoney, it's just a…
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After all our morals
And ethics of distrust
Have been ripped out
And discussed
There’s still the Meat Lady
At the end of the day
Standing around
in the midst of the crowd
Handing out her meat
In little morsels
on a toothpick
Af
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the world’s biggest poser fags
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Sometimes you want to strike out at me. What is stopping you? There is no stopping you. You know I will not retaliate. Gone is all that I will be to you then.
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The first years of her life she had been owned by a bear hunter and trained to hunt bear, a terrible turn of luck for her.
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Why should you
go through that
for me?
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He knew she’d spend the day furiously scrubbing the best she could too, despite the hot house in the middle of a Southern Summer, and despite no matter how hard she tried, the place would always look filthy.
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The will to make/
remains
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It wasn't the sun sparkling
Or the dog of the neighbor
Barking.
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I still remember the old times when we were together. I wish I wouldn't have let you go. If you ever thought that we should be together, please come back.
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I enjoy the walk through these crowded woods. It's good to be back among deeply seated young and old trees again. That familiar smell, you want to always savor it so very much, to not deny any of it. It smells like a blue sky, the…
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When the village slept, the men came knocking.
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The boy wasn’t raised this way.
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And then I heard
“Yea, for I have seen the Father
The Son, and the Holy Toast”
Okay now, something up was weird
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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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What happens in life when no one is watching?
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A Boston company has created a humanoid robot named “Baxter” that performs manufacturing tasks and gets a confused look on its face when it needs something.
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I think of particles exploding, coming back together like some physics experiment I don’t know the name for. “Large Hadron Collider,” you say. But that’s not what I mean.
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I live in a small fishing village where small people fish and others gossip or invent bizarre methods by which to irritate each other. During our weekly power cuts I go outside and cross the street, sitting on the pharmacy steps to watch myself not be at home in the…
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I’d met this crowd of drunken poets from San Francisco
Even though this was smack dab in the middle of winter
Smack dab in the middle of the flattened Illinois plains
Why they all left San Francisco I’ll never completely understand
But there we we
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Musing on female beauty I came up with this: it makes my dick hard. And if that's a bit crude, well, hell, I'm dead. Want to sue me? Back when the clans were at one with the earth, circa goo-gobs of long years B.C., female beauty meant…
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