375 6 2
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I feel like writing a poem about my penis, my penis is not me although I am my penis. Sometimes dry as ginger ale. Sometimes dripping like a tap when a little plumbing is required and it is Sunday, the plumber's day off. I feel like writing a poem about my…
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374 5 3
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I don't want to see her again. No more pain. This one has barely healed. It hurt too much on that grey day when she said no to my longing eyes. "Don't look so sad," they used to tell me. I'm taking a different road now, I make a detour, I avoid her shop and her silhouette…
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372 8 4
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372 5 5
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if I get electrocuted—maybe I’ll electrocute back
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368 27 18
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Sleep shall take you where plutonium
Stars the drinking pools with light.
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364 1 1
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At the time, Leanne was meant to be going with Daryll Keyser. She played bells in Mr. Davis’ marching band, and Daryll played tuba. On the bus home from Tulip Festivals, still in their uniforms, they’d do things to each other in 10-minute turns...
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363 2 1
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The door was locked. Han Solo couldn't believe it. After they'd come all this way! …
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361 3 3
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I won't read between the lineswhen the linesI'm daily given are half truthsI will take what you sayas truewhenthe truthsuits me as well as it suits youI heard you yelling at him, you knowyou didn't know I was home yet but I wasI was grabbing a package off the…
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360 39 20
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She was fast as the wind and lived on air, her clothes a size 0000.
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359 18 16
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357 8 4
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354 5 2
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I Am My VoiceRegimes may throb and dreams may smoke but my sisters' thoughts they'll not revoke. Through rock that quivers, through concrete stream, our reds and yellows, they'll dazzle and teem. My womanliness need not be feminine not that the feminine…
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352 13 5
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348 10 6
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Prophet with a portable outhouse sees into the excrement the dogma of the pussies and the wussies and the wieners and the healers. Prophet with a portable outhouse looks out beyond the living rooms of the wretched and the forsaken hairy chests and the shaved …
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348 18 11
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343 1 1
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The coals lose their glow.Sun kisses the back of my neck goodbye.Someone plays Boys of Summer one more time.The cooler tips... The tides go out...
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342 4 4
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Flying mammal with thin membrane forelimb adaptive wings. Amazing number of species from fruit-eating to insectivores. All capable of landing in your hair at night.
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342 28 18
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Every time they said Gloria I turned around but of course they meant Gloria Steinem.
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341 3 3
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They wear their bodies recklessly, these cempazuchitl, these flowers of the dead.
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340 5 5
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A few weeks ago I was sitting at my desk when I began feeling a sharp pain in the area of my back just above the hip. I got down on the floor and lied on my side to alleviate the pain however I could. It lasted about ten minutes and slowly dissipated. Is this a kidney…
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339 6 2
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339 5 6
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The couple sit at an outside table at McDonalds.
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338 53 22
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Assholes are assholes
who do asshole things.
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337 11 7
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334 5 2
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What shattering tranquility! Such a devastating hush! The flora in its element, the sky a flaccid red. Dreaming just a little, more or less awake, the people shift, capitulate, move like animated trees, dropping their leaves on pathways, on subtle …
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333 8 5
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Such pretty dogma, a voice in sleepstutters a wakefulness, clings to the Gothiclike a warrior clings to war.You wear the gown of impossibility.Before unfinished works of suns,perpetual irises, wonderful, mad,armed with such superlativesI heap praise upon your pineal…
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333 3 2
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I decided this time I’m going right to the end.
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333 3 2
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I am human, I am no piece of meat.I am (womb)an.I stand on my own two feet.I move my own arms and legs.I do not scramble eggsnor do I wait for the telephone to ringfrom possibly potential datesdesperate for my affections,none of them remotely worthy.Independent am I. …
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332 3 3
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Pieces that said shrug a shrug and then another and one to right with the eyes that squint and one to left with rhythm that never left. And piece after piece, after piece they stich themselves, née weave a tapestry that is the dance your very walk swayed
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332 2 1
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I Tinseled nebulae scatter, couples dance the dance of meridians, as seekers of that dream that does not seek; but so are we, but sense everything shall become antique, that the tragic is everything. Reverent this loneliness. Giving…
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