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Woman

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There's an old woman sitting in the corner of the bar. Her blue skirt flirts foolishly with the blood-red wall.

Cottontail Morning

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A murder of bunnies nibble the St. Augustine,

The Web

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The vibration of my cell phone on the nightstand shakes my brain awake. It always does. These are the times it bothers me most. When I am in that deep sleep. The kind of sleep you fall in, after you wake up the first time and then roll back over in the early…

You Do Not Exult Over the Held-Out Heart

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You can’t know everything you want to know, about anyone. (Especially about me!) You can’t even know everything you want to know about Sharon, and I probably know more than you do. In fact, I’m sure I do. For instance, did you know about that guy

is it a visible, or invisible thread?

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In another dream I am you and I am giving birth and the pages you have written are flying out of me one after another and appearing like speckled moths near the ceiling of your bedroom, and they have my eyes and some of them have yours. A soft singi

Attacking Panic

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I'm panicking trying to think of the next line in this poem

In black velvet

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I can't show you the territory- not quite yet, not how I see it. But I do have a map, a glorious and vain construction. It gives you a glimpse, a sight. I wish you could see it all.

The Vegetable Man

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He'd hug us against our wishes when we tried to get a better look at his cart, his odor a mix of sweet and sour and stink.

For Seven Days

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The fluorescents above a constant hum. A hymn. The child lay on the bed as the parents worriedly hovered. Fretted and dreaded. Tubes and wires led from the broken body to machines and computers that fed and cataloged every minute detail occurring in the collapsing system.…

LOL

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LOL? What does that mean? It’s showing up like everywhere. You make me LOL? Is that equivalent to puke, do you think? But no, they would have said: you make me want to LOL. And I’m like HMB, you know, Holding My Belly, To Keep From Puking. TKFP.

Notes to the Dead

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The kind of poem poets write and read. I mean, hey I was feelin’ it HARD at 3:24 am, and this is what spilled out.

Hands

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the moment he started walking my hands were given new tasks to do:

ruination rumination

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a ruminating marsupial? if so,/ I guess I’d be a kangaroo, the cud soured/ and pasted to the tongue . . .

Intro to Rock Poetry 101

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He was the Elton John Distinguished Professor of Lyrics, the last man over the drawbridge before they abolished tenure; he didn’t have to do any original thinking for the rest of his life.

Another Land

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In another land...

Let's Do It In the Mud

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Then I got another letter, but this time it was from my friend Andy, warning me that he’d seen Miller riding around with Lynda, driving her grandparent’s Dodge with Lynda sitting right up against his side, and his arm was around her. I saw red. I went

Standing aloof

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I think it cumbersome to walk within a darkened room. Too awkwardly uncouth, for one with such a corpulent frame, to hug the hungry. It weighs one down, to wave airily, to wildlings By cages, and pain, made tame. Best to look away, than…

Secondhand: Four Inscriptions

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To whoever reads this next--Henry James makes my head hurt.

2-100-Words

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The woman who lives on the first floor once loved dancing naked for her lovers.

It's Not Enough

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I'll never forget the way you tasted that last morning that I ever saw you.The blurry eyed look on my face as I searched your bed for my tshirt, and you in a hurry because you were already late for work bending down onto the bed and grabbing my chin the…

Zero Gravity

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Here is a blank space soft and white like paper extended indefinitely.

Treatise on Some Blue Skies

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It's true, what they say, loveis the only thing thatmakes any sense. It isthe bravest thing anyof us will do. But it'simpossible, dangerous,stupid. I don't wantyou to trip into itsbeautiful trap withoutme. Like being swallowedby a fish, I'm told, yesactually I knowthere is…

Speculation on the Quantum Mechanism of Death

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With whatever else physicists may learn . . . perhaps they will begin to see that the connections between the physical world and non-physical domains of existence have an explanatory power which has only barely been considered.

Is That a Floating Postcard over There in your Shirt Pocket, or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

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We came wind-milling together ,up and over the blue and yellow stone bluffs, like a couple of empty yet racing nowhere fast plastic grocery bags, catching onto everything and anything in our way, and desperately trying to get free again,…

hot weather brings out the sexual

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The blond hair lifts slightly on the skin of my arms. In my mind I am nodding, listening to you in your bedroom as you read to me from your poems. The veins along my arms standing up interestingly. I probably have small breasts, yes. I look up, searchin

The Runaway Train

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Me? I was a runaway.

One Night Stand with the Birthday Girl Near Lincoln Park Before Leaving on my “Honeymoon”

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Terry marked each spot where we did it with a red “X” on this map she had taken from my dad's gas station. In those days gas stations gave out maps for free.

Mythical Houses

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I remember meeting this famous rock musician once, when I was in real estate. He could be such a jerk. It seems like the famous ones always are. He saw my friend Susan talking to herself in the kitchen at a party where we were. “That woman is never alon

Sara and the Machines of Loving Grace

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I, like Sara, am the last of my kind still activated. I am a Machine of Loving Grace.

The Year of the Horse

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“She's the year of the horse,” Metri said as he peeled his dirty head from the bed, his hair was as matted as a racoon tale. It was as wild as a wild animal and smelled like body odor with a hint of blood. He slid his scabbed hands up to his chest as if to…