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Song In the American Soul - song

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Through the lonely night All the roads are breathing While somewhere on the road The American soul lies bleeding The past is all in yellow The future’s all in blue While living in the moment Has lost its rosy hue

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.

They Don't Get to Say Everything

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The world hasn't ended. Your part in it is still ongoing. The going on world hasn't winked out. Every possibility is still out there. In there, out there, it doesn't matter where you are. The here and now claims you for its only tribe. They only want someone to tell them…

Here, You Are Alive

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He doesn't tell her that he is married, and that his five year old daughter who is living at your house has a mother back in that same city

We the Wild Men

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There's a whole pack of us, men minted from hot brass and thumbtacks. Too tough for sensibility's sake.

Classic

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"I love you.”“Night.”Back at the screen door she answers “What?” I stand under her nose and say “Box is out of juice.” Inside she sits me on the black and white polka-dotted sofa we make love around here and there.…

they came to explain the wind

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How we segued from exploring the wind to eating a nitwit sandwich.

Elegy on a country rooftop

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Willa knows why Jimmy reached for the thirty ought six Chambered a round With three more clinking in his pants pocket And took to the roof

Siren

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There it it again, that noise. That low hum that I know so well now, spinning, gaining momentum in my head, like a cyclist in a velodrome, until its steadiness and roundness becomes sharp, painful, cutting like glass.

Freedom

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His senses were heightened. The scratching on the table with his finger nails, intense nervousness, the noise magnified every second, the ball point pen was piercing into his sweaty palm.

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

I Was Supposed to Write This

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I was supposed to write a history of the old world and expose the selfish ones who use their best kept love for evil against the good little witches of childhood, but it made no sense to me to go after them in that obvious a way. They…

My Plumber

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It sounds so good.

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

A Whole

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You sawed off my wings then Asked

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…

My First Winter in Massachusetts

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My first winter in Massachusetts feels medieval: cold, dark, and endless.

My nose

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

picture (im)perfect

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not

Dark Matter

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

Help Us Locate Ourselves

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dove from the trenches, double-check

civilization

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pain and anger

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.

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 …

Straps

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high school football players who'd been hit wrong and instantly become quadriplegics

From the Cradle

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

Parable of the Parabola

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I held the steam and scrubbed it. How do you do that? asked Willy. How do you scrub steam? It is so, you know, diaphanous. I said to Willy, because Willy was a good man and listened with both ears, we adapt to the heart's convulsions. I send my grammar to a…

The Wedding Is Off

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I sat in the kitchen with the phone in my hand. The phone had just stopped ringing. When it rang, its screen lit up with the face of the caller. It vibrated and played a tune called "Dusk 2 Dawn." Now the kitchen was silent.