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His throat had turned red after a few days of singing, and when he looked in the mirror he saw little sacs of white pus, like pimples, in the back of his mouth. “You got to pace yourself,” the big black woman who sang at the other beer garden told him.
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that lightheaded feeling you have right now is a good thing
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Where the Story LiesEverybody wants to knowwhere the story lies. Does itlie in childhood? Does it liein old age? Does it lie in anangry outburst or a stingingrebuke? Does it lie in a momentof compassion or in the recognitionof calloused selfishness? Bruisedlove or…
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This is no age for love; this is a time for discovery. So no time for me to sit around my candle is slowly burning, while wind combs my hair. If this is what loves comes to then I predict in the eventuality of me being an old woman by the sea living with her friend, the…
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The Party and the Body The party at my mother's ended Saturday night deep into Sunday's morning. I tried to remember the exact circumstances of the end but although they wouldn't come it didn't worry me. I knew I would remember at a certain point. It…
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The light streaming out of the background of things, in the absence of memory. That’s what I’m talking about. Prepare to let out all your light from night until dawn, if you want to be in the middle of life. I never wanted to stay at the edges. It didn’
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My friend and I were talking while having burritos (some days, it is as if all we ever eat are burritos, existentially speaking) and I was looking at the way he inserted that shaft of meat in his mouth and thought him prodigious for his technique
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They’ve got the tourists
On the top deck of the bus
Wrapped up in large yellow
Plastic garbage bags
Riding through the City in the rain
The yellow bags flapping in the wind
Yelling in the numerous languages
At the top of the world
The to
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Hot sweaty bodies slam into each other to get aboard the overflowing subway car. I struggle to wedge myself though the sliding doors, bracing for more bodies to press against mine. The passengers in front of me suddenly stop and fan out.
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The coals lose their glow.Sun kisses the back of my neck goodbye.Someone plays Boys of Summer one more time.The cooler tips... The tides go out...
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We’d sometimes find my mother asleep in her chair outside her trailer at the nudist camp when we drove up. She loved her garden there, even with the rabbits eating her young tomato plants. She used to coax the bluebirds down to the railing of her trailer
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shitting out the Mona Lisa.
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Tough shit if it looks like shit I heard that voice say as I reviewed my blog...How ya gonna fix it, stop and see every time ya write a line? Well FUCK YOU anyway! That's what my A.D.D. said - WOW! DID YOU SEE THAT?! - as it perched upon one shoulder, overlooking…
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On the first night I met you, you fell in love with the waitress. She had a loud voice and a strong Irish accent. She wore an oversized t-shirt to minimize her large breasts, and baggy jeans. No makeup; crooked teeth. But you…
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I got caught writing poems
at the paint factory
several times
before they fired me
I got caught in the middle
of one of my best lines
but can’t remember what
I meant to say
anymore,
but I know, just know
it was something real good,
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Before you start reading this it is important that you understand that I know nothing about the evolution of horses or camels. I mean, I literally know zilch about which came first or if they are even part of the same family. In my head I imagine one of those charts…
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First the room is blank white and then she is placed there and one by one everything is penciled in. Her, in a loose and flowery dress that conceals her feet; a black and white cat, who wraps her tail around her legs and looks up, head moving trying to interpret;…
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The past follows, battered, bruised, always behind
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I guess it was a foregone conclusion that you would be gone at the end of the year. A foregone conclusion that you wouldn’t be coming back, and that after you began writing letters to Sharon saying what you would do to her when you did come back in th
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When Madeline became beset with a malady diagnosed as Harlequin's Syndrome she had to learn to overlook the muffled, but audible, guffaws about her excessive perspiration and slightly stooped posture on stage. She was a trooper and said she knew they came from those who…
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It was a battered, creaky, rickety old thing, this wheelbarrow. It had two wooden handles with cracks running through the wood, a fat rubber wheel and a deep tray encrusted with the mud and plaster and grout that it had transported through decades of heavy use. Based on…
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Testing how well he navigates
She didn't think he would find it
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I look at her
really look
we both know her time is fading
"I'm just sad that you won't be there."
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I watched her look at mewithout any eyes.She turned her head as wesat on the edge of the bed.Instead of eyesthere were hollow indentations of soft tissue,bulbs, and closed,tissue sown, pinched togetherwith pulls and zigzagslike crosshatching, where…
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She exists behind closed doors. An open field, on the edge of a moor. Her stare belies her hardened heart. Her soul in fragments. She has lost faith.Never happy. Never understanding. Never accepting her sadness. She walks every evening at sunset. She remembers her…
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“‘Dial Back the Snark’ is an attempt to fight the cynicism that’s corroding America’s social fabric,” Myers says, mixing his metaphors. “It’s spreading like wildfire."
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We had been on the way to the church when we found them. The handkerchief in my breast pocket was folded just so and I'd tried to recreate the perfect ribbon in Ashley's hair, …
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If you have writer’s block, it may be because your childhood wasn’t unhappy enough, but there’s nothing you can do about that now, is there?
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You don't see the bruises ... you can't foresee the pain. It's intense, so deep and yet so volatile, in vain. He slapped my head once more while he uttered for the millionth time the same old words again: "You're a loser and you'll never win. I hate for you to be my…
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