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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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don’t let them take away our youth, even if we have to beat the paint out of birds the way we did when we were young. I knew we could do anything, so let’s go back into that world and describe the new dawn all over again, even if we have to use the frozen
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I stayed by the idiot king in his box, never ranging far, never letting the box out of my sight.
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Flowers I didn’t like God or else nature must have had some brief happiness over. But it’s just forgetfulness for an old goddess like me, goddess of the moon, of hunting, of chastity once, since now I have changed. My opened flowery bosom went on to bec
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The boys back in the rental office must be wondering why we haven’t left yet. Maybe they thought we just wanted to sit in the car and listen to music.
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On the phone I asked my mother how she was doing.
“I’m getting old,” she said. “Going slow. But getting there. I’m ninety-four!”
My mother was always 94, when she was really 93. I remember she was 93, right after she turned 92. And 92 when she was
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Outside the lattice of snow suspended in the air comes with traces of the glitter that was in her hair.
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No one believed me when I told them this: I took all of my novels and tossed them into the fire.
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She wondered why people would spend hard-earned money on a television when they could look up at the sky for free and trace the images that had inspired poets.
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"Is a dream a lie if it don't come true, or is…
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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
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No one is going to find us. And even if they did it's just a play someone wrote with you in mind as the lead. No one is going to find us. I could have told you this but I didn't want to spoil your newfound fun. No one is going to find us. The funny…
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1. There is a crowd of people walking to a field and since there are over forty of them, the conversations become divided and then subdivided in accordance w/natural rhythms. I follow behind. It is a football game. Makeshift. Twenty aside roughly. Almost every…
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I don’t like telling stories. I’m far too honest and give far too many things away.
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That was the year I got my Daisy bee-bee gun for Christmas....
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When I asked her about her husband, she laughed.
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Mine lasted 90 days. But don't they all? After we made love the first time, it was early November, I remember, some internal part of me shot upward with a laughter that would not stop. Something…
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Deslauriers taught that of the five derogatory items a girl could be—bitch, slut, tease, frigid, whore—tease was the worst. Having a German Shepherd at home protected Liz. My family had a cat, female and black.
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The only thoughts that come are old ones that are so needy they keep circling through for attention
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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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A reddening? A certain swelling, a little passion among them, is there? What lips would not have given what they could, to speak more boldly, more fondly of you now? But now the country is fastened to arrogance, welded to it in an evil way, wanton with violent…
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A salesman, a born salesman like my brother, is always and only involved in the Moment, and it is the sale itself that is at the heart of the moment, and my brother Harris was really at the top of his form as a salesman. It can probably best be said, th
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The last time I was with Terry, she surprised me by crossing herself just before we had sex. She too had been going out with this Mario pimp, with his ski boat out on Fox River. The guy who was going around sniffing after most (if not all) of my old gir
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The sirens didn’t eat the sailors
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In the morning that same girl I’d seen gave me a tangerine...
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"In the shit the dogs circle, talking of a dead bitch, maybe Merkel" - Michelangelo's poem of a stultified flower that never emulsifies, an orange California poppy of pink-gold drenched in urine and a horse in either burns bright whinnies and trollops neigh a pipping…
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there are monsters in my bed
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Tony's is just a hole in the wall since most people get their sandwiches to go. There's a skinny counter, which was last wiped down during the second Clinton administration, and three tiny tables crammed into a corner.
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what happens to literature's characters when their readers traverse the veil?
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