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Birds FlySeven Poemsby Darryl Pricefor Charlotte and Mel, as always"We should insist on joy in spite of everything."--Tom Robbins“I don't need your love. I don't need you to understand. I just need you to listen.”—Perfume Genius1. I Want to Sing to…
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My wife and I were sitting at the bar at Brennan’s down on 4th Street one night, drinking too much without eating. Geary had convinced us to come down there with him, for two reasons. One, to give us the lowdown on where to stay and what to do in New Yo
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. . . hands before your face, heart without blood . . .
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Out the window is an empty birdbath, dry flaky concrete ring, no birds.
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the boredom inherent in living in the suburbs
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Len and I sit on Harpo's porch, drink beer and gab. It's hot, even for July. Len and I joke and laugh, and Harpo stares off into the middle distance.
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I scare my daughter when she sleeps because she thinks I'm going to kill her.
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You just watch, the schoolteachers’ll be next and then you’ll see shit go down. Imagine what happens when a fifth-grader sees his teacher getting frog-marched through a crowd on YouTube.
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My favorite was a red bowler, a man's hat, which I never dared wear outside my tiny bedroom. My three brothers wanted it too much to take that kind of a risk. They'd poke me with various sharp objects: the serrated edge of the bread knife, the rusted TV
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Sloe Gin Fizz is pink
Bombay Gin comes in blue
I’m sitting here at Emerald’s
And all I can think of is –
you.
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"I sighed heavily. 'Goddamn it...' I spat under my breath. 'Every motherfucking time..."
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Alysia slowed down for a moment. She clutched her head again. She looked up and found herself at a playground. There was a familiarity in the air.
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“There’s cheap land at Cudlee Creek perfect for breeding long-haired rabbits,” he added. “They can’t jump high so fencing costs are low.”
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no one else comes in my back door but you
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Conceptio culpa
Nasci pena
Labor vita
Necesse mori
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Borges must be so proud somewhere
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... we both know how we go to fresh air like fish, gasping.
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There's a mirror in front of me and I thought it was so I could see myself, but I didn't want to see me.
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The psychiatrist was a man who clearly meant to calm his patients, the students. You could tell by his sweater and his neatly combed, plumy hair and the wire-rim glasses he wore. But he was not good at his job. You could tell this by how bad he was at cal
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Here’s the story as compiled from the scantest of clues: The writing on the back of a stall door in the restroom of a twenty-four hour restaurant under the Gowanus Expressway.
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Mama hung them everywhere. It started with just a few, in our apartment and outside on the brick. She made walls into windows.
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Approaching the kitchen from the foyer the reverb lessened until heel and floor where flint on flint. No spark was made.
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I ask for your patience with this form message, as it is part of a system that ensures
every submissive ex lover is considered separately, since I am involved in a lot of anonymous sex.
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It was only when blood began to drip onto the page that he realized he'd been hit.
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I need a different storage solution
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I could love them all, your people, /
Learn their differences, speak their tongues, /
When there is no one there to hold you /
But me, my arms would be wide enough /
To hold armies of your need. Do not forget.
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...and 55 words to tell you about it.
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Talking about a Friend Over a Cup or Two of Coffee “Their first fight was over school lunches. Free school lunches. She taught Kindergarten in a public special ed center for emotionally disturbed children. The…
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My dad drove a Model A Roadster
and had a photo taken of him on a hunting trip up in Wisconsin
with one leather boot up on the running board
and a .22 caliber pistol in his hand
like Ernest Hemingway and Clark Gable rolled into one
My dad ro
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“Cheng Ho didn’t go just Cape Horn; treasure ships visit Australia and America. His very advanced compass. Not just point north-south. Show east-west too.”
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