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Oh, I cant stop singingThis human heart beatingWhat people say do not interest meAs much what goes on in their heartsThe heart is were they are really atNo matter what they saySome call it the IdSome call it the subconscious Some call in the willSome call it the…
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She was outside the house with one of her unlit cigarettes dangling from those chapped lips, she was carrying the can of kerosene and wearing a pair of red Mary Jane shoes, even her footwear smacked of violent drawing mystery.
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Will you leave me, you, the one?
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It's eight fifteen in the morning, my favorite time to call, and a guy named Ernie DeCampo answers the door in his work pants and a t-shirt. “Good morning, Mr.De Campo,” I say. “Do you have any fireworks in your home?” …
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The appointed day came without much fanfare. The day was gloomy, but it would do. They climbed to the roof of the house to a small landing where Smiley placed the tiny piano stool smack dab in the middle. As soon as Ethan sat down Smiley rotated the chair
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Rent yourself a decent place to live, one with a shower.
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Death is like a warmcup of hot cocoa, steamingup into nothing. The sun rise will bringprison bars of light through thebedroom blinds again. Sorry about thefirst three hours of your deathI thought you were drunk. Across the park thestrange dog looks…
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to the back of your mind like a box of unpacked yet beloved books if you want, but that's no life I want to explore any further with you. We don't have as much time as we once thought, to believe in something other than empty bottles lost in the…
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On the way back from New Jersey this afternoon, my dad kept pressing “seek” on the radio dial so he could find WBLS, which we listened to last night, also on our way back from New Jersey. I was driving last night because I wanted to and because I think my dad…
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Life is stained-glass evinced in some
Holy place, colorful and mysterious,
Crosscut with gashes of lead veins.
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A jump, a fall, that's how it begins. I don't know much about living but dying I should have down to a science, if practice makes perfect. Death by burning as a withc (often) a warlock (not so much) a heretic (quite a bit, you'd be surprised--though, if you…
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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
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I had a dream, I remember, where I am in this painting, Luncheon on the Grass. My dress was thrown off and the picnic basket, filled with bread and fruit, is spilled out upon it, and I am sitting nude on my underclothing, with two gentlemen fully dresse
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“I’ve read your blog recently,” my friend told me over waffles and cold potato salad at 10PM, “and something strange is going on in there.”
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He arched an eyebrow. He was "thinking" — a tricky thing to do, when you never read, even the newspaper.
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Are all my words lonely, or nearly departed; decapitated; Visible only from the ankles down, nonchalant? I Get bored. All my words are not paying Strict attention to the television. I get dysfunctional. My words, coincidental though they…
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Everybody wake up and hold to those dreams you had of greatness and prosperity. Bring forth the hopes you had as a child of progressing to that ultimate goal of self-sufficiency. You are prepared for what lies ahead, the future belongs to us. Our finest…
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a pit-bull or a rottweiler or something like that
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This spring darkness is winding around my neckin the age of video, how many times I've seen her at the zoowith your eyes, as if seeing for the first timeher early morning breath, tripping your woman, your angelas she arrived on the beach when it was still too dark to see…
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If I start getting rambunctious, put me in a cab.
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I have the idea but cannot find the words
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Could I cache your kisses?
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Her light blue eyes fixed on a point to our left, past one of the church steeples poking out of the flat, charred ground – like a toothpick protecting a birthday cake from its cellophane ceiling; an untouched bethesda keeping the never-blue sky from crash
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It’s too early in the morning to play the glockenspiel. I’ll just sit here and knit this tiger.
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Yeah, okay, so
pigeons are the bums
of the bird world
So what are a flock
of crows working over
a wheat field while
the artist Vincent
is desperately trying to live
with his bleeding ear
or to sell at least
one painting during
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I need to be commended,
despite the wine glass
that threw itself
at your sister's head
of rollers. Imagine a pear
in the deli meat aisle
ripening behind glass...
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To do the proper set up for the story, it was taking me some time, but each bit was important to the outcome, and while he likened me to Higgens on the old Magnum P.I. series, I just laughed at his slowly closing eyes and folded arm, caught in a half cur
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"Excuse me, ma'am? You wanted the mayonnaise on the side, right?"No one ever called her ma'am again.
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