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Academic Papers & The People Who Write Them

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It distresses me that I do not write enough. I know I’ve told you before that I don’t read, and it may be super-ridiculous to tell you now that I don’t write much either, but that is the sad catastrophe I with affection refer to as my life.

Two of a Kind

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What was it about women that made them know these kinds of things about one another, about people, the way they came together, the future? Crater thought back to Dresden, the exchange student from Holland. She knew things like that.

Ah'd love to kiss ya

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“What was the line in the movie Dad?...

Arabic

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I would see her at the gym in the mornings.

Making Love to God (or: A Profound Man)

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"I would physically — not metaphorically, mind you — make love to that avocado..."

The Hunter

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...I pray for the animal souls I have taken -- panther, gazelle, hyena, vulture...

The Seven Year Itch

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It’s not every day that a girl like me gets greeted with a hairy beast that orgles and spits when excited. Didn’t help none that it only had one eye. Poor little ole bugger.

Just a Suggestion.

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[testing ... one, two, three ... testing ... is this thing on? ... ok, here goes:]

Lay on Me

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On Friday nights I'm not there.

Veld fire

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The crackling inferno sweeps across the ground Devouring all in its scorching path

Boys of Summer in Yonkers (Memoir Excerpt # 2)

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I am coming to understand how many memories of my father involve him, driving

At a loss

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I used to charm you, hold you in my hand.

Powdered Sugar on Bare Skin

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At first I thought maybe I was dreaming, or hallucinating from the lack of sleep and a high altitude. I peered out of the small window and thought I saw a man walking stark naked along a path maybe twenty feet from my trailer. He walked briskly into a one

Phlegmatic

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Eddie Dorsett was a dumb kid. Nobody could dispute it. More than that, Eddie Dorsett was a fat, slothful, whining, shilly-shallying, phlegmatic zero of a kid, the lowest of the third-graders for certain and a prime contender for the lowest of the entire R

Kill Allan

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I still want to kill Allan, because he now is unseen

The Spirit Upwelling

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Too late, I feel a bite under my left heel, but before I can look, I blunder into Robert and Paul rolling across the bedroom floor. They knock me over like a bowling pin, and I grab Robert’s hands and try to pull them from around his father’s neck.

The Flight

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Of course, you're eventually struck by the thought that the house you saw on the hill was not your house and that those children and the dog are purely matter for the strange.

Egg

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We soft boiled the free range egg, cracked it, and were surprised to find nothing in it.

The Parachutist In Love

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The Parachutist closes his eyes, takes a breath, and then opens them back up again. The earth is very beautiful, and very small from where he is. It is getting larger quickly, which is vaguely alarming.

Valley Rugstore

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He hunched low and forward on his bike, his 14-year old self, flying down the dusty back roads of this Great Midwestern Land, his head full of the smell of the algebraic girl he sat behind in math class just hours ago.

Eating Grief at Bickford’s

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Eating Grief at Bickford's · From Allen Ginsberg's “Kaddish” There are no places anymore Where I can sit at a threadbare table Pick at the crumbs on my plate And wipe The white dust From my pitch …

Two Poems:With the Whole Crowd/Apparently So

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With the whole bizarre crowd surrounding us like birds on shit covered cliffs, offering up a bowl full of choppy seas to the many bored and stuffed sky gods, we danced our way into all their hard shell covered hearts as one thing. Still they never knew our hiding …

A Message from Upstate VII

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My wife’s voice behind me says, “Where did you get that godawful tee shirt?”

This Isn't a Title, But I'm Fingering Your Mother, While You're Sitting at the Computer, Reading This.

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[ETIQUETTE ... DECORUM ... BOUNDARIES ... BAH!]

Sparrow Down

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There's no surcease from heat, no "cool of the evening," like the songs say about summer in the South. Those songwriters sat under fans in the Brill Building in downtown Manhattan.

The Inkblot Test

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“Regard this inkblot,” the Psych says to Worker 168. “What do you see?” Worker 168, a thin young women wearing overalls, peers at the inkblot. “I see a beautiful summer day,” she says. “A young woman, wearing a flowing dress, sits…

Homecoming

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Pion's long fingers fly from black to white, white to black, without missing even a measure. The nocturne starts soft.

Honduras

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In Honduras they say a prayer that sounds like screaming at the top of your lungs...

Drought.

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423 days. The old man still possessed the child-like habit of biting his lower lip when he wrote. The thick skin as dry as pork rind. He recorded the days without rain in a spare, makeshift almanac. The pages waxened from the soiled press of his hand

Tremor

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I ask because she's the animal person, not me. She understands animal behavior.