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The white moon is dangling
by a thread tonight.
I close my eyes
and listen to it undress.
Your halo fell around your ankles
and you became see-through,
but there’s a vast gulf between being pretty,
and pretty dangerous.
Still, I’ve s
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We know a poem isn't going to stop you From invading our town. It won't get you to Listen to our birds any more than to our Sunsets. That's not why we do it. We know A poem isn't going to break the blade of Your knife like an…
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Times were tough back then. Just a few jobs. This was in the late thirties. It's the story of how Albert hooked up with Iris. Their unlikely meeting took place when they met out on the Highway 61 right-of-way just outside of Natchez, Mississippi, each trying to hitch…
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1.As fast as that I wake to astonishing desire. I'd met you at my parents' house just the weekend before but for them (them the drained students trying to relax, refill before their afternoon sessions) you are the stranger in the room,…
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Within a day, she had a scummy apartment which belonged to the government. It had cockroaches, which she was not used to. They churned her stomach, repulsive little things. Not even creatures. Two brains, she'd read: one in the head, one in the ass.
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Passing by PallanteumOr ‘Dido's Song' Form: Double Sestina, iambic pentameter, rhymed Who knows of hell, knows less of paradise? I've known them both, when vanquished in your eyes, When draws the kelp where lost men had their graves Below…
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My table offers up the gutted calf/
with carrots and potatoes yanked /
alive and whole
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Cut my karmic rip-cord. Shower me in angel dust.Let me embrace the gray, this isn't loveat first sight, this isn't blindnessat the twinkling of any eye, this isn't the timefor the blowing of any trumpet.Anyone can dowhat they can do. Didn't you know this? Or are…
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I suppose it was inevitable, This crashing of souls, This recognition of possibility to create. If we were younger, We would make a baby, The ultimate act of faith. Now it has to be something else, Nothing to force a track with night feedings, …
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When they first met at the bar, right away
he was sweet on her.
He drove an old oil-burning Buick or Olds,
going down the road like a smudge pot.
He never kept food in his car,
where it would get hot and spoiled.
He only picked nice fresh
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1. The ghost that photographs my wife and me has a peculiar sense of lighting. In this one, we are sitting at the kitchen table of our old apartment. The table is made of glass. There is nothing on the table except our elbows. She has lowered her head between her…
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On Monday, Michiko returned from Cleveland in a foul mood. She called Frank’s studio at three in the afternoon.
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No one saw him arrive at the half-moon garden just south of Delancey, no one saw him hang his cage from one of the drainage pipes, but by the time the rest of us got there, the bamboo frame was already covered with silky, golden cloth that reflected the e
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Sundays I drive her to the cemetery to visit her husband of fifty years. I've had her for two, and when I tell her I love her as much as he did, she laughs. I have to hold her elbow and help her over the bumpy grass. Today it's raining and we brought just one umbrella, so…
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Before the paint spikes Coney Island to the wind, I walk home through the strum of a shield, colder than the one he left behind. For the hour I sprawl along the sidewalk in her laugh, crater's shadows for Wonder Wheel, he is midnight sun in The Last Waltz. Where the glow…
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It starts on the Fallopian Speedway
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[THIS PROGRAM HAS BEEN EDITED FOR CONTENT, AND TO RUN IN THE TIME ALLOTTED.]
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the heartbeat,
the pulse of
the darkened earth
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And I admire//
the orchestrations of ants and honeybees/
and the persistence and adaptations/
of the cockroach.
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The world can still be viewed as a drop Of rain, but not all the tears can Be revealed as such. Stories swirling inside are constantly Shifting gears, searching for the lost highway, and Sometimes finding it. There is plenty of love Going…
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For the kid in me who fell
head over heels
all the way down
the stars,
I wonder where you are
now.
Slack is harder to
cut than
you might think,
I have learned.
And assigning the middle finger its true purpose
keeps me pretty bus
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This story* is brought to you by
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We got a sandwich at Mr. Pickle's, but they cut the sandwich in the plastic. Plastic wrap.
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I would drinkbut Iam unfortunatelychainedto a senseof selfpreservation.
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Hi de ho, and hey, hey, hey; The farmer's daughter is made of hay. I went to touch her but she blew away, And noo ma hert is nae langer gay. Hi de hoo, and how do you do? The farmer's wife has a cold up her flue, And takes me away…
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What are our reigning philosophies today, what dominant schools inform and lead our intellectual efforts, inspire our blissful reveries, inflame our breathless humanity?
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