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Minneapolis

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He will later claim he knows nothing of the girl’s disappearance and that I was the last one seen with her, which will unfortunately be true but not the real story…

fabulous birds

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Fabulous birds perched nearby, where we were. In their memory there goes the little god, original, in the midst of it all, happiness like anything near the river-mouth. Letting yourself dabble in the femaleness of it. In the lower world or on the playin

Anger Management

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How many extinctions can we claim?/ Is someone keeping score?/ Somebody needs to keep the score

Syndrome (re-mix)

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The brain had elected itself Judas, sleazy loud with silver jangling In this grand guignol of new and quickly old concussion Limbs roasted themselves to occult temperatures Yet remained whitely chilled under air that strove to rub, scrape, signify …

Portrait without Birds

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so Tippi has no interest

What'd You Do This Weekend?

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Sometimes your Monday morning answer to the inevitable questions don't have to be so mundane and repetitive. And sometimes they do. No one gives a shit anyway.

Pitcher

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the shape only adhering

2 Haiku

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We’re heading to a Poetry reading when my wife Says “You owe me one” Coming back from the Poetry reading, my wife says “You owe me, big time”

My nose

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When I was 14 I accidentally heard a woman saying behind my back

O Starving Poet

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A novel is an idea that has Survived many severe beatings While a poem is a homely thing that was Never even asked to the dance Art Speak, however, is the art of Systematically overstating and Re-inventing the Obvious to the point of Distr

Bonsai

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Adam, now Eve-less, stood before his most exquisite Bonsai, wallowing in the miseries of youth.Seth Gall has had work published in China, Canada, and the U.S. His work has appeared in Word Riot, SmokeLong Quarterly, and Nanoism. He is S.H. Gall in decomP…

A Child is Born

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I came out of the Quick Stop and found her in the back seat of my ten-year-old Camry. I don’t know who she is, or why she chose my car. I do know she’s having a baby any minute now.

Letter to Garrison Keillor

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Hilda Raz lost a daughter. Her son gained a persona, backed by biological components. I was impressed by his male-pattern baldness. A biological genius. And yet, I was reduced and in the elevator mentioned crying about it.

Quel Bordel

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Our friend, M. Dieu-Juste partnered in a used car business with a Vietnamese mechanic, Mr. Tran. Cars however, were not their only venture.

Palinode for a Love That Failed

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Palinode: A poem written to retract something said in a prior poem.

The Sadness of Being On Line and (Bonus Extra!) The Driver

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He had to get over the short bridge

My Plumber

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It sounds so good.

gravelortian part 16

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Understanding those who don't understand us

Still Photographs

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one will become a tobacco king; another will steal copper plumbing on moonlessnights.

Watching the Clock

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Benjamin did everything by the clock. He ate when the little hand pointed to five and the big hand pointed to six. He danced when the little hand pointed to three and the big hand pointed to seven. He slept when they both hit twelve.To be more precise, he did everything…

From the Cradle

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Loss and awakening are irrevocable. Love and grief are one.

Dark Matter

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The darkness isn’t evil but invisible/ in the otherwise excellent light of day

The Young Hate the Old

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The old hate the young. Robe exposed monks do not Hate mosquitoes. It is one. It is one hand. It is on. Mountains don't hate sky. The rich hate the poor. The poor hate the rich. The parade of scholars hate the …

Fortunately the Future Is Behind Us

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When you finally arrive, when you are bounced from Bingo for calling out too many false Bingos, may the mothers be there to lift the children off your soul. May you see the fiery red word Psychic above the doorway underneath the green

Metro Blues.

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She had no eyes that I could see. Just a pair of lips; they looked soft

Fortune Favours

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We're all just meat and atoms who can no more sense into the great beyond than a horse can fly a plane.

How Many Remain

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how many lighted days remain

Ode to Larry Darrell

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Confession

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As a boy Edward had stayed in the confessional several times in a row. The priest was drunk and couldn't tell it was the same kid over and over. The tiny door slid open…”Scobbity bobbity…tell me your sins…” Edward confessed what he thought were sins, then said…

Brains

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My memory is like tracks in the snow. My memory is cookie dough. My memory is dirty tube socks.