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Synthetic Terror

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When I wake up, I am almost drowning in a sea of styrofoam.

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

1978 What I Wanted

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What I wanted was to rewind the film

The Lies You Tell Yourself

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I am skinniest in the morning. My belly forgets the previous day’s sins, and I wake up looking taut like a model. Then it starts.

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.

Relationship Status

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I would use your towel,

Night Letters from the Underground

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As ghosts, they became lovers. Rodion would strum the Underwood keys like a balalaika. Lizaveta would sing.

the rest of sleep

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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!”

Broward County Love Song (flaxen from the sun)

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If the little buildings had hair the hair was as if sleeked back some and also flaxen from the sun. Men walked past there and of course women also all in the requisite wear of the world. We dashed felt pens on curb-sides writing our names in the world and way in behind…

the duck discovered alive in a hut

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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

Can I Have a Title Here?

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At the company luncheon, the dessert course came first. The servers were tense and unresponsive and we knew something was off. After the pudding or mousse came an undressed salad. Several minutes later came dressings — balsamic, ranch — with ladles.…

The Transportation of Hens

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Sixteen hundred hens / suffocated / during the collection

Bruegel days, nights by Bosch

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no matter where we sit or how we stare— / all parades now march away to one day.

The Problem With Oils

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If you were a painter, and I a poet, we could have conversations about Picasso and Bukowski, and how neither one took a sober breath.

The Quiet-Minded One

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Oh, wait — loosen the ropes, you say? Sorry. Can't do that.

Хлебников via странников (+ two tombs from Mallarmé + one more)

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No harp now hails, / no wood sings mirth, no good hawk / swoops through the hall, no swift steed / paws dirt in the castle-yard. Woeful death / has emptied earth of an ancient race.

One-Nighter without a Stand, Even

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She lay down sideways on the couch with her large breasts spilled out toward my face, as I sat cross-legged on the floor, so that they were more or less right there in my face, and well, you pay attention when tits are hanging out in the open like that. S

Friday Night

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Another hard week tired but make the effort

Women With Colds and the Men Who Love Them

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“This is when things pick up with the ‘stuffies,’” says Sergeant Jim Hampy of the Vice Squad. “They lie low during the summer, then come back when cold and flu season starts.”

Three Eights

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He fingered his remaining chips and the usual nervousness tingled at his spine.

Up at Night

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made of meat and born to breed

Quantum Mechanics

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

A Slippery Slope

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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,

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…

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

Ten lines inspired by a lecherous man ...

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A hymn for her when his head cocks shameless.

Epicure

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Edwin was the last thing I bought. With his uneven eyes and curious leg stumps, he was a must-have. When I showed Edwin to my housemates he was hugged many times, and praised as though he was real. Knowing my housemates, Edwin may have saved some lives…

Goodbye, Me

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The racket of me left this morning

Wanna Ball?

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She came out to Laguna Beach one time, and we saw each other at this party and she asked if I wanted to “ball,” as she put it. Yes, I said immediately, because I was famished and really wanted a lot of sex because I had just finished a three month project

The Love She Can't Find Pt. 1

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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…