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the sweet lunar springs

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Check the sweet lunar springs that we are still bathing in. The swelling in the genitals there. Check to make sure we are ripe, and in season. It’s our way of being willing, strong under the sweet icy waters, with that fertility that is derived from you

Contortionist

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a poem that unwrapped itself so casually I tucked it under my tongue, just to make sure

end of january

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c'mon honey let's go get stoned the night is falling where did you say we were going?

Karmic Rip Cord

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For the kid in me who fell head over heels all the way down the stars, I wonder where you are now. Slack is harder to cut than you might think, I have learned. And assigning the middle finger its true purpose keeps me pretty bus

Quantum Mechanics

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It seems a little solipsistic/ but may indeed be evidence of God// given its mystery and caprice.

Smiling Lessons

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Wound up taking smiling lessons Six days in a row But they didn’t take All the people in my class They were so fake

Demons

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Michael had become quite accustomed to his morning routine. He woke at seven, made his coffee, and stepped onto the front porch with a steaming cup and a fresh cigarette. He sat there for ten minutes or so, watching the neighborhood prepare for their d

Trick Horse

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The trick rider arches

Ten lines inspired by a lecherous man ...

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A hymn for her when his head cocks shameless.

When Dreams Come True

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None of them knew the emptiness my bravado covered. I moved through life a pale shadow of a being. In the mornings I was afraid when I went into the bathroom to gaze into the mirror I would find no reflection staring back at me, that I had finally become

Flight

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They’re friends, him and Sissy and Raul, you know, and live upstairs from Asa and he went up there. He kept texting me saying, B here all night, follow u 2 airport. Yelled down through the floor. Real crazy shit.

Abandonment and Abundance

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I’m living at the Edge of Graffiti And yet I still survive Because I walked across the line Separating me from the rest of mankind You can see me out here I’m in so much pain All that’s written on my face I think it’s pretty plain

I Want a Lover, Not a Saint

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Her tits were perfect But came with a white picket fence Around them

Morning Concerto

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the continuous racket, a buzz saw trumpet

Spilled Milk on a Fresh Lawn

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What if it was all cut and calculated.

The Great Dying, Pt. 2

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"Great! Great. I got your message . . . yeah, it’s a little long. It’s 140 *words*, not characters . . . "

No More Ideas

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And then, one fateful day, the world ran out of ideas. The last one was gone, floating away like a balloon full of the helium we had already squandered.

Pirate

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When I got out I didn't buya new suit of clothes, stepinto a bar, or bargainfor an hour with a whore.I walked from McGee Streetover to Russell and wonderedif Bus 16 still went out of its wayto loop around the traffic knotat the shopping mall. It'd drop you thereif you had…

Indestructible

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With furrowed brow, he took the plastic stems and began to beat the blossom ends against the black brick wall.

In Which My Girl Hits Me With Various Big-Ticket Appliances

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My girl hit me with an ice cream freezer. She did it ‘cause she said she didn't want me to tease her.

Strange Sign At the Outskirts to Paradise

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In an area of high winds and strong convictions, I have lived among the ever-changing crowd that is always the same. I must have died overnight, and now my wings are flapping in my own face. I used to be an owl, a night owl, to be sure

Grateful

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What I had liked about Harvard before it showed itself in psychocareerist TV appearances and lid-down disingenuous printed psychotopical drills for maintaining crass privilege was the description online of its linguistics department.

Brooklyn Bridge

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I’m walking funny but only comedians notice.

The Tesseracts

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From 'Excelsior' (fifth section) - a poem in 9 parts. So this is what begins at thirty? Thirty-five, And waiting. Those make love with water mildly, they That sink and skim the tide's meridian fingers: Brown swans that bob the blue orb's plumbing sheer. So this has…

Late July

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The cicadas struck their soundsTheir ribs made a clicking drumThe sound was formed over buckling ribsvibrations sounds like a maracas bangle beatingShe sat up in a lounge chair trying to sleepThe tiny ants she found tickling her armThey crawled from some hole…

step martyr

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my heartis a brokenstandpipefanningcity water cayenneacross sidewalksgutters ripple redover fast food bagsand cigarette buttsover the feetof priests and pit bullsover the handsof drunksand babiesand into the mouthsof ratsand raconteurs you never oughtadrink…

Pimp and Circumstance

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You may want to know who wrote the book of love, but all I really want to know is who, who sprayed the dinosaurs with graffiti? Not some poser Not some Svengali Not some last minute giraffe Not someone from the all girl’s band kn

Five Stories From a Funeral

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1. Premonition “He had a premonition,” Agnes, the widow, said. “He said he was going to die.” “Ma,” Gregg said, “he always said he was going to die. He was the Fred Sanford of Central Ave.” “But this time it came…

Cocktail Hour

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The bullet went past his right ear and a little star appeared, twinkling in the mirror, a small hole in its middle, before the boom of the shot filled up the bar. He put his straight up Grey Goose martini down on the bar hard enough so th

Jukebox

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Once a psychologist told me a story