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"MAN S FEET HAVE GROWN/SO BIG THAT HE/FORGETS HIS LITTLENESS"--DON MARQUISA Century of Art by Darryl Price"Man's feet have grown so big that he forgets his littleness."--Don Marquis Everything in this chummy little place talks to your face without stopping to…
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Saturday night in the suburbs west of Boston. As Pancho Sanza and I drift wearily from one upscale restaurant to another, we see an endless parade of husbands whose indifference to their wives borders on cruelty.
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When a woman dies too young, Say at 42, Her bones broken, Her body bruised Beyond recognition Much less repair; When she dies Thrashing In the street Amid rainbow-hued pools Of water and gasoline And blood, Anointed on a bed Of broken glass In a…
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You always liked the color of your nose, raspberry red. It matched the glittery dazzle of your rainbow hair when the neon lights hit it just right, and man did they always hit it just right, the vibrant honey-yellow big-bird frizz and feathers, swaying to and fro as…
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Not sure I remember what's important, but I remember you. That's the whole problem I think. You're a drain where all my words wind up going down. All of them get lost inside of you. Eventually. And I'm left with nothing to say. Because all my words are…
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I really think we ought to be drinking
The Wild Virgin again
I remember having a beer once
And feeling like a minor god, yes
Just like you did
So, now, listen to me: if she snores all night
That’s one thing
But if she screws the lights out
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But El Roy
Never listen no so
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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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Biting off your own tongueBlistering boils, stumps of burnt hairChopping your hand off with a dull axeDrowning in a swimming pool of blood and pissDrinking dog puke from a brown paper bagEating the intestines of your uncle three months deadFalling into barbwire covered…
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And I'm usually soft-spoken.
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My mother was a bluebird
Who flew from tree to tree
My father was a pilot
Who flew right over me
Her soul is still living
There upon my tree
My dad’s evaporated
Right in front of me
My brother’s soul has wandered
Far away I see
I
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If I came home and she had peed, even after I walked her in the morning before I left, I would tighten up my whole face and shoulders, so I wouldn't hit her, and I would grab her by the tags collar, and I would hiss at her what she needed to know, what sh
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What I’ve got is
priceless,
but no one
wants it.
Hmmm.
I wonder if
I can
give it away,
or have to
haul it to the
dump?
What I have is priceless.
Priceless.
What I have
is priceless,
but no one wants it.
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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.
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He stood in the doorway of his mother's house. The doorway that separated the living room from the kitchen. Out of habit, he picked at the wallpaper. He had done this for years as a kid. Anytime a corner pulled up, he started tugging. Just a…
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I wonder if the Pleiadians are out there. Jack, what are you talking about? said Jane. The Pleiadians. I said I wondered if they were out there. You did go to special school, didn't you? No, said Jack, I didn't. I don't know why you always tell people that. …
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Daily, at 3:47 PM, below his office window, a child in an orange windbreaker sits in the last car of the T, in the rear seat, face pressed against glass.
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Your begging hands are hacking me up again like garden claws that know not the difference between a delicate solar powered flower and a tightening choke of killing weeds.It's not like it's even mine to keep-- like a legal document I'd…
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The president is truculent today.
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Its edges fluttering in the dull breeze, today's town newspaper lay at my old feet, open to the obituary page.
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The rising sun was hidden from his eyes by the hips of the woman next to him in the bed.
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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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A tanka poem inspired by the CEO's apology and a 10% discount for the 40 million debit card numbers stolen at Target store since Black Friday.
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I glance back over my shoulder as you fumble with the keys. Repeatedly. You swear a little under your breath. You finally locate the proper one and the large door swings open. I hold it as you run over to the alarm keypad. You punch in the code written on a…
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Francesco entered the gallery, and he immediately went to work.
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I know you,
ladies and gentlemen
We see the near future
through you
Your factual face
as you sit indoors
Youthless
In your ordinary chair
"Mice run through their vision
Mice run through
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