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In The Arms of Veronica

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Her smile was a cliff I stood on, trying to wrangle some kind of hope from the whites of her teeth. I heard the sound of the buzzer from the door on my ward. She stood there, a sickly ash tree, each limb flailing about like she was drowning in my sea of a

Diamond Dash

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I pointed to the strange man. “Who’s this?” I said. Ethan looked puzzled. “That’s a man with his head on fire.”

I fell in love with jackal face

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As we stood there, my hair slung over his shoulder like uncooked pizza dough, I updated my wish.

Roommate, 2006

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I love her now, but I used hate her because she’d leave hairs on my bar of soap.

So then she says

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She says that she’s a prisoner in her own life, and if she wants to get drunk at two in the afternoon with a bunch of union men, then she’ll do it. She says I am welcome to go fuck myself.

Storytime with E. E. Zulkoski

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...afraid of cancer, fire, floods, famine, being audited by the IRS....the list goes on and on....

Babel

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As if reaching for the Divine was the problem

The Library of the Realm of Dreams

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I hold down the control-alt-delete keys simultaneously and the screen goes blank, sending Camus into a paroxysm of fear; for a guy who wrote an essay on facing down suicide, he’s kind of jumpy.

The Little Engine That Shouldn't (a political metaphor)

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The rings on the engine Not designed for race gas Did allow for some seepage Did allow fuel to pass The fumes were quite powerful To the pan they did charge The spark was quite forceful The explosion was large

The Fruitless Resuscitation

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I was sent here to perform the autopsy on the norm, the status quo, the bourgeois.

Lineage

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the arc of her invective presumably aimed at the little boy and girl ambling halfway down the block behind her

To Fill the Hollows

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most famously, a small/ writhing dog. A thousand casts were made/ before they stopped

Unguent

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Spilled milk it is --lactate of common desire;water under the bridge, slow-moving, white. So this is what we feed on: the past and present here for the licking.Sweat is water too,for the hungry, and any past will do. Parched mouths kiss just as well as…

Firecracker to the Dome

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pulling my bones apart, fingers are supernatural beings

He Sure Can Play Piano with Those Giant Lobster Hands

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He sure can play piano With those giant lobster hands In his ratty raccoon coat And his old black cowboy hat His boots of Spanish leather And face like sultry weather His raspy croaking voice Picking out the words so choice They reall

Wilting Magnolia

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White sneakers cry, dripping from the power lines.

4 Scars

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Within 3 seconds the replicant Abraham Lincoln now knew everything there was to know in this world. The errant input function had created a memory leak that lead into the network. First local systems, local networks, to city, state, government, then world

Almond

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Almonds of childhood – fending off needless tears and chocolate impulses, almonds of my teens, slivered and toasted industrially baked settling in on egg washed croissant…mashed into the kitchen sink of the catch-all bear claw, then the taste and shiv

The Storyteller

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Our fingers, arms and toes slither over one another along the smooth crevices between muscle and bone like familiar childhood paths.

Soliloquies of the Interior Zombies

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My inner shape must be a ruin of organs,/ dead or dying. But do come close enough/ for me to hear. I need to know your story.

Nigtingale

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Thirty is nothing, she said, Wait till you really start to fall apart. I wanted to tell her I already have, but you can't ever say anything like that, especially not on your birthday, especially not to the woman who's just bought you spaghetti and wants

Incantatory Plea to the Civic on Interstate 75

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May the timing belt stand the stress again

Tonschmerz

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Deists try to prove the existence of God. I do not doubt God nor evidence of the existence of Jesus nor Jesus' miracles. I merely wish there were more people like him

Aloneland

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I think I have experienced this before: This fractal sigh upon the star-scarped floor, That makes this concrete mock of valley heath- Below the traffic lanterns at the door, Of frigid other flowers lovers ‘queath None but their eyes to.…

Main Street

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You know when you see the flashing blue lights in your rearview mirror that you're not being pulled over because of a busted taillight or carelessly doing fifty in a thirty-five mile an hour school zone; your crime is being a Black man behind the wheel. It happens often…

Splitting

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Crunching gravel beneath my feet, the sound of approaching death.

A Guy's Guy Kind of Guy

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I like to keep my mind uncluttered for truly fresh information, like the fact that T.S. Eliot taught Virginia Woolf the Chicken Strut. That's news you can use.

Someday

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He called himself Theodore Birdwhistle.

Not Here and Therefore Everywhere

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Sometimes I try to hum / along with the air conditioning, / and pretend I do not exist, but am merely / the space that fills the room.

Cold, wet and dreary.

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Cold, wet and dreary.The three words that describe Belgium. A country that owns so little identity. Sure, there are the mussels, beer, wafels and chocolate ... But that's about as far as it goes. The lack of identity rules the country, grayness rules the horizon. And…