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The Undertaker's Son

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You would never see me the same again. You'd always be peaking at me from behind your mother's apron.

Good For The Ducks

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It's dawn. It's quiet on the pond in the Public Garden. The light is calm, the pollution is mild, and everything is still,except for the occasional cruising taxi. It's the beginning of spring-- tulips out, leaves…

After Detox

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When detox-man drives away, the windows down, the radio playing on the classic rock station (The Eagles), he thinks about moving out of town.

Out of the Loop

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Ed wants to watch the last half of the football game. His wife wants him to mow the lawn.

My Affair With Tiger

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Face it girls, you want to claw my eyes out, don’t you? Or whack me across my 36 DD’s with a golf club, am I right? Well don’t blame me if I’m young, gorgeous, full-breasted and obviously the cat’s meow.

Time

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Tell Bono I want my seventy bucks back.

The Invisible Corpse Candle

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Her eyes stared wide with panic, her teeth chattered intermittently with impressive intensity, and with her ineffectual stabs at the air she completed the portrait of distracted mania.

CONFUSION

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She asks if I would like to join them.

Mr. Smashface eats fast food at Supermarket # 9

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“Now God,” Mr. Smashface calls me out by name.

Zig Zag

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Jerry tries to be funny saying, I think Charlie Brown should kick Lucy in the head when she pulls the ball away; either that or they start making out. Ewww, but they're both eight years old, Sandra says biting her lip, tying off her smile. Jerry won't focus on her…

At Play in the Fields of the Lord

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Rothko explored horizons,/ blurring figure and ground/ by omitting the figure.

Regarding Bill Yarrow’s Assertion that Herrick Was a Voyeur (Poor Julia: Violated, but Immortal)

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the observation, at the end, more/ important than the being there—

Gabrielle in Arrears

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You should be calling 911

Squirrel Boy, You Are My Toy

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unbury yourself from the silt and give me some seal love.

The Way Back Home

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500 miles all the way from Omaha nine hours on the back of a flatbed truck

Bring Me His Head

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Just bring me his head, that cerebral kiln of hot, ruddy verbiage and cadence.

The Sum Above

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The mandatory is not / your friend

Turtle Summer

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He was her summer fling, the first cock to crow when the sun rose over her tequila smile.

The Death App

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The phone owner pre-writes his or her dying words! The app stores them and releases them at the moment of his death!

Arcana Magi Memorial - c.5

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Azure became silent. She never thought of her death before, nor thought about actually fighting creatures and saving people’s lives.

What the Father Said

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At night, instead of sleep, there were new and secret pleasures. Half-awake lessons in dexterity, in the limber material of human life.

Heart

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She drew her hands out of the chest cavity and looked at the clock. ‘Time of death,’ she said.

The Yellow Butterfly

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Let whoever may read this know: I am an evil man, and I have done evil things.

Peripheral Anthropomorphism and the Fall of Troy

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For Hector it was animals. Rats, dogs, fish, and quite often horses – sometimes even lions. But for Achilles, it was always dead bodies.

Found Poem

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The waters rose / on the earth

untitled

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I am a sunflower. I turn my yellow and black face, bruised, to the sun, hoping its light will heal me. With my eyes closed I can see my stamen, veins in my eyelids, bulbous where they intersect. The sun feeds…

Only losers reminisce about their show & tell days

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Somehow I always had to sit behind him. I remember because he had a constellation of skin tags on his neck. I thought about drawing stars on him; I thought about creating a new galaxy I would rule. I should have been learning math instead. I still can’t

Rook

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What can I say about my brother, Stroman. We are twins and we hate each other. He is an honest, brave man with scruples. He is full of bullshit. He thinks I am morally twisted. He probably has a point there, but I don’t see what that has got to do with

palisades

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Driving up to the Palisades after 9/11 for a meteor shower

Shadow Man

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Words are not like bricks. The neighborhood flowers from within the rituals that enframe the drinking of a macchiato in a café. Now it hovers over the page.