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Happy is a look we are trying to wear better
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Gary wrote in beautiful brevity of this most fabled story told with strings.
Of it's breathtaking majesty and boundless power.
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- Of or relating to dreams
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I fuck myself. I say never three times. There is a movie in this movie in this. I say hello. Fish are named after capitals of invisible cities. I say so. There is a movie in this movie in. I say flush for a dumpster. The sound of a sound never made. I say equations for…
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Pieces that said shrug a shrug and then another and one to right with the eyes that squint and one to left with rhythm that never left. And piece after piece, after piece they stich themselves, née weave a tapestry that is the dance your very walk swayed
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the echo of the hull's first contact with the water will pull the past through the present and the present into the past.
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And you should know, every woman smiles at a man buying flowers, because … we can imagine. We can only hope.
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It was the early 80's My students carried / guns.
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Her dad regaled me with stories of his up-from-the-bootstraps climb out of poverty on the hard-scrabble, rough-and-tumble Lower East Side of New York, where he founded the leading supplier of hyphens to writers of purple prose.
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I leave you because
you violently told me to,
I still love you because
I told you I always would.
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I will miss you, sure, let it be known. The memory, and the dream, both. That familiar smell of Old Spice when someone wearing it comes near. And the smell of Coppertone Suntan Lotion on the beaches of our youth in Chicago. And the pressure of your fing
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There is only me and the crooked pavement that leads to your dim tower.
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I stroll out to the front lawn, and find myself against the sea of grass, painted daubs within the frame of a distilled rock. My ears attuned to the starlets warbling on the twisted branches of the lone tree, flock of wings that find subtlety and shine in the rapture…
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From the parking lot to the stadiumdown town waiting for the crossinglightthere are a few others in jerseys but not manywe are too early for that.Desert gravel crunching scuffle of canvas shoeskicking granitehop along wobble steps and I turn to seewho's off the…
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They called him Hank. We piled in a car and drove up from Irvine to his little bungalow apartment on DeLongpre near Hollywood Blvd. for a collating party for this Mag he started with Neely called “Laugh Literary and Man the Humping Guns.” No shit, that wa
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The aftermath of a lady's adultery.
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the wiggly word / floats toward the crowd
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When they first brought me home, I was their pride and joy. Then, one day, they put me in this wooden box.
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Yes sir, I confess there have been timeswhen I did not care how young the earth isor take pride in how she sprang back to greenregardless of how hard the snow fought.There have been times, yes, when I lacked the willto notice such things and knew that belowthe water's…
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I dream empty, the wind blowing benzene blue. Shards of glass. Barbed wire. Bricks crushing flame into notions gone quick, never painless. Is it my blood? In my eyes. On my hands. Is it for you? I'm not sure where I'm walking here. Walking towards what from. Is it…
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...the bulk of poets are amateurs.
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Morning. A hot bright sun shines down on the cool dark depths of the deep blue sea.
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He’s got horns and a tail
I found him on sale
He’s got snake in his DNA
Evil in his eye
And plenty of chicken pot, chicken pot
Chicken pot pie
But he sure can play piano
With those giant lobster hands
In his ratty raccoon coat
And his
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Chin beards, flannel shirts, Levis
no boots anymore, just loose sandals
their chicks with double triple multiple chins
falling asleep on their own palms
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How to remove moon stains from slacks!?
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I won't ever forget the image of my father, behind the wheel of the Cadillac he so loved. Even as a ten year old, and more as an adult, I could never figure out why he loved that car as much as he did. I must explain that he was really my step father,…
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