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An Interlude of Stephen Miller Thought

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If I have not heard of it it doesn't matter. My hearing is a life force.

End Game

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Where the Story LiesEverybody wants to knowwhere the story lies. Does itlie in childhood? Does it liein old age? Does it lie in anangry outburst or a stingingrebuke? Does it lie in a momentof compassion or in the recognitionof calloused selfishness? Bruisedlove or…

Spiritual Awareness

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Amir was a ghost, and he was terrible at it. No one had taught him how to be a ghost. There was no orientation, no welcome packet, no handbook. Ghosts started in limbo with only a name, and nothing else.

prophecy of the playground

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they deafen you with cute / knive you with sugared songs / with machines turn love to silicon shit / hurl you at the god Fun / debrain you in their schools.

Hard Times

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None of this is real, he says, and the path slopes down to a house that is possibly haunted. One always looks in such windows, one cannot not look at the predictable detritus of another's failure, a queer satisfaction, a fairy's dust. But no, not real, none of it. And…

Even if I was a Fool

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I enjoy the walk through these crowded woods. It's good to be back among deeply seated young and old trees again. That familiar smell, you want to always savor it so very much, to not deny any of it. It smells like a blue sky, the…

Carriages Wait In Long Rows

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She who is not a widow had once listened to the river repeat its story.

March for Me

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A son packs his bag - bottled water, extra masks, and jerky. Mom paces behind him. “Don't go.”

The Turkey and the Tall Tree

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The bench was set by the waterMarbleAnd dedicated to a man etched his name,the year he was born,and the year he died. She had been suffering from a dark narcolepsythat reflected off the cloudsa lightening bolt energylike a screwturn screw and wrench.Door…


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Like the absence of a screw

The Secret to Everything

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You were still holding yourself In your own arms, when I first found you You were so fresh No thunder had ever spoken your name No lightning lit up your veins I continued to have the feeling of you Between my dream muscles and my lack of s


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It's just me.An October afternoon.Ocean and Ocean and Ocean. if you keep looking, down the coastthere is fog.Only fog and me and sea.I imagine him before I see him.Slow walk just above the water line, the fog catching up behind him,fantastical cape.The rational…

In plague (o) veritas.

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...a falling forward that is sometimes so material that you get a look at your shoes as you fall past them...

With Eyes Closed

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I believe I will become a bear, snuggle up in a deep cave, coil myself inside my fur, close my eyes on hurting images, turn a deaf ear to the uproar of the world. Bolt my door to the deceiving voices outside. Sleep. Forget. Wait, as we wait for spring, for the violet and…


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They had been part of the world for as long as he knew, but they were still an enigma to Timothy. They had an origin but he did not know what it was or what they were. They were both the source and the outcome. They generated and spread the information.

walks from to walks to

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hands slide into gloves unseen / eyes disappear behind glass / the crank turns the flywheel spins: / every octave has droppt low / sub-sonic shudders within—

far beyond

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far beyond the far beyond sparkles the stars like sparkles

Stroke One, Stroke Two, Stroke Three

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On Monday, May 7, 2018, at the age of 67, I had a stroke.

A Journal of the Plague Year: Day 76: Specters of the Sixties

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" If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stomping on a human face--forever." 1984, George Orwell


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A Waltz Viennese

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We made a plan to see each other to chat more and so we did. I went to his little house in the neighboring town and walked in to a kind of time warp. It was a large living room, made so by it's emptiness. It was stark in the vastness it seemed, but dark.


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pain and anger

I Can't Breathe

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"If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor."--Desmond Tutuand all the animals are migrating away from us. That can't be good. I can't breathe and the moon is on fire. I can't breathe and the ground is starting to rise…

Lovelandtown Tavern

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James Hubert III sat at the bar. It was late. His wife and kids were long in bed and he knew he should be, too. But with the Lovelandtown lift bridge stuck in mid-air, a drink beckoned him. He sat next to Vince DeSantos, a small, stout man, with a bowling

Ballad of Vengeance and Violence

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Two weeks later, on his way to a neighbor boy's house, Tim sees Tony on his way to the nearby convenience store.

The Great Pandemic Poem 2020

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First you had to have been there Because the air cleared up When the world stopped driving And the plants bloomed Bigger and brighter than we had ever Ever dreamed The sky was just a brilliant, pure Blue Like when God was born Now fo

A speck on the wall

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I’m leaning into my freedom and will have you take your portable prison with you and you can set those four walls across town.

Creating Raoul

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Randall had created Raoul to enjoy the freedom of being another person, but this became his second life crisis.

Orientations within the Zwischenwelt

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Licking bowl and spoon taste and foretaste follow.

The curtain

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In the evening the curtain recounts its day. Faces, images, incidents it has observed from the window. Its voice is nuanced, modulated, quivering, for it is made of lace. It appears to crochet its words with needle sounds. My eyes, during confinement, are not wide open, not…