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It was Christmas Eve. Time for the ghost to visit. Just one ghost in this story. The ghost of a Christmas past. Just one Christmas for just one ghost.He looked out the window. Under the distant streetlight the snow was falling. He turned on his porch light. …
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The racket of me left
this morning
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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…
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So this has led again to my hunger over you, the lion of all people, the other I, pertaining to voice, speech, perception. I knew right away how you rose up inside me, how I could fly near your ceiling. Right away could feel the tide, rising and swollen
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Charlie is hollering about Rex again. Every dinosaur right now is Rex. Also Rex: every animal with thick-looking skin--elephants, crocodiles. (Yesterday, he pointed to an ant and told me, "Buggy Rex.")
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Sixteen hundred hens / suffocated / during the collection
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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.
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A hymn for her
when his head
cocks shameless.
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She's a woman who travels often. Maybe for work. Maybe for mischief. She's a "free spirit" trapped by her desire for love. But she numbs it with the warmth of a new man's touch. She leaves herself reminders that often fail her or remain inconsistent. She wants to…
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He fingered his remaining chips and the usual nervousness tingled at his spine.
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Forgetting fractures her body into a vast flower of fragments
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Driving alone
again
across the U.S.
I thought back
on my first relationship.
As I sd to my
girlfriend, because I was
always talking, Lynda,
I sd, which was not
her name,
the darkness surrounds
us, what can we do
against it? Or
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"It goes to infinity and back.That is how much I love you".She looked down into the sandplopped down and made a snow angel,Pushing the mudwith her arm and legs,like windshield wipersof a caron a rainy day"Auntie ... Auntie,How much I love you".
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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
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There’s Julie-she’s the cineaste–
Au courant woman with a past.
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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
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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
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First they
Dust off the bottom of the sky
But then the clock gets stuck
At 3 seconds till uncertainty
Then they
Dye the sunset clouds
To make them more
Transparent
So as not to confuse
The human mind
With the stuff of uncommon
Nostalgia
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It seems a little solipsistic/
but may indeed be evidence of God//
given its mystery and caprice.
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There’s a sudden
Burst of color
Like the dispersal of a ghost
In a light wind
And now candy wrappers are
Scattered all over the heavens
It looks like God got lit up
By the sky
As we flew too c
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Vince did a dance of love and courtship around the Camaro moving crab-like around it with his arms hung low, raising them only to lower his sunglasses.
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peripheral dreams fall out from the head / the body squirms then burrows abed: /
“have you had a good life? you now have less! / —led a hard life instead? you soon will be gone!”
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a distinct hardness that translates into solidity, and a lightness that translates into beauty, and I thought I’d find you there,
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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…
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This is the keeper's pattern. Each time he continues his search, he reaches out through his gaze for an invisible line, wishing to touch it if only with his eyes. Each time he feels himself drawing near quiet panic sets in, eyes downcast until the threat
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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
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Amir was a ghost, and he was terrible at it. No one had taught him how to be a ghost. There was no orientation, no welcome packet, no handbook. Ghosts started in limbo with only a name, and nothing else.
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It's good to be home.
It's good to be home.
It's very good to be home
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