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(From Postcards fom a Railway Station (final poem)) No lights shine out tonight high hung in heaven: And the constellations like a dead man fall. No sight of polar eyes, whose sons are seven, And I stand unthinking and beyond it all I own it all a…
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Here it comes at long last. We just can't do it like that again. We don't have the same time. But something's wanting something more to be more than this. Here it comes again. But you bailed on me the last time around. Went silent as a…
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His long black lashes stir, flutter a wink. His eyes catch yours through the dark reflection of your face, illuminated from beneath by wavering candlelight. Reflection obscures his features; they become yours.
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We were fleeing Hurricane Katrina
We stopped somewhere in Texas at a roadside diner
But found a sign that said it was closed
All of a sudden as we sat there in our car
The shop’s owner knocked on the window
And asked what he could get for us
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she said, point blank, “Can you help me? I need a lover, and a friend.”
“I can be both,” I said. I don’t know, I just opened my mouth and out it flew. You don’t even stop to think what you might be saying at a moment like that. I mean, she knew I was s
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We broke our hearts rather than sit in your reversible seats with the plain brown paper packages tied on our laps, we did so together. You don't want to hear about that. It gets too close to the actual murder of love. I…
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there are nights when you're all alonein the darkwhere the only lightis the glow of the computer screenand words can't seem the scratchthe surface of your skulland bit by bitthe sentences, phrases, and lettersattached to your synapsesdrownin your subconscious
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There is no need to worry about art. Art in its ideal forms stays safe. Real art resists being the object of attention. It directs your gaze, and it swings in you forever.
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"[A]ppointed an official supplier of watches for the Ministry of Defence of the Soviet Union in 1965."
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A likeness borne in silk, rich contours of canvas giving life to the seascape.
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The hospital was a welcome relief. A short ambulance ride, a nice man holding your arm in a make-shift tourniquet, the red sirens flashing and screeching. Then you were…
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I sulk across the room to feed you,hold your hand, tell you everything will be fine. It is the right time of night,the light from the street falls onto the chairat the perfect angle. I look at you, gray, shimmering, persnickety. Don't move, thisis just the dust, helping me…
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The men stir around so aimlessly
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but isn't that the case
in most long-term,
committed
relationships?
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Jimi, Jim, and Janis
Kurt and Amy too
They died and gone to heaven
And fit inside a shoe
Room 114’s where they lie
Their eyes wide open
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Mine lasted 90 days. But don't they all? After we made love the first time, it was early November, I remember, some internal part of me shot upward with a laughter that would not stop. Something…
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d anon., I've Had Trouble "Loosening Up." I've got to keep my pump primed, don't I?
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The concrete guy’s truck is parked in front of your house. There’s nothing for him to be doing there except your wife.
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I know you want to hold me. I won't break. I love you. Your hands - when they caress me are soft and gentle. My words speak only to you. They speak of love and of how we spend…
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Sandy lay motionless on the ground, death giving her a look only describable as "ancestral."
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Gee but it’s great after being out late,
Walking my lobster back home.
There’s little risk that she’ll turn into bisque,
Walking my lobster back home.
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A thrill seeker before midnight - but closer to twilight ...
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A murder of bunnies
nibble the St. Augustine,
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I wanted only to be still, to become a rustle for a moment of papery fall leaves sighing past one another on their way to the funeral pyre in the front lawn, sweetly fragrant with the scent of death and inevitable decline, fearless in their annihilation, incandescent…
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I was at the bend in the road
thinking of Robert Frost
but there was no fork,
there was no yellow wood,
there wasn’t even a horse
to ask me why or what if
There was no decision to be made
just a thousand tourists from Prague
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“Hey! You can’t be
whistling on Greyhound,”
the bus driver said,
looking up
in the rearview mirror.
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I'm sitting in the dark of my own kitchen, because it is dark outside, not from night but from clouds. I guess that's where I'll start talking from. This isn't about you. I'm not sure it's even about me. It's probably about the…
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I feel I am, in fact,/
the dimmest and least wise/
man on earth.
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the Coke made his butt leak blood
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