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Collateral Damage

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The fruit of thy womb, the shrapnel embedded in her belly, the damage done, the Lord have mercy. Seagulls throw themselves against the North wind, again and again, a perpetual motion of disappointment.

On Silence

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the world crumbles to nothing

The End of Our Last Night

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Wine nourishes, subdues memories, keeps eyes dry, and head heavy. We are up to our third bottle. Your head is on my lap. Gray hair uncombed, you feign sleep. My left arm draped nonchalantly over the curvy edge of the chaise lounge, gold velvet with wine…

Max's On Broadway

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It was a lousy night to be lost.

Congratulations On Your New Diagnosis! (Greeting Cards for People With Mental Problems)

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First published on www.humortimes.com

A Map

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It was war without beginning or end.

Bring Me His Head

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

Thoughts That Wake Me Like a Bad Dream 1 through 3

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The police states of German National Socialism/ and the Soviet Union are but pencil studies

Summertime

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“Mescaline occurs naturally in our bodies, you know,” I said.

My Multiple Personality Disorders (DID)

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Predator

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Uncounted hens and piglets/ die at my demand. The killing floor// runs red for me. I am/ monstrous to creatures small and great,

Julia

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Six months later, she was teaching theology / to refugees from est.

Bipolar Me

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What Should I Say?

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too horny for poetry

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sometimes the urge to write is like the urge to fuck

Empty Spaces

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Art lives.

effigies

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The rooms of our house are guarded by effigies of the saints. Anthony of Padua and the Virgin Mary team-tackle any visitors I try to sneak in under cover of darkness, and for added security, St. Francis of Assisi waits on the dresser with a kestrel on his

Hand-Me-Downs

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Mnemonics

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I write to make visible my small/ assertions against impermanence.

After Prom

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I was a form without body.

too pissy for poetry

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feeling obligated to write/ is like feeling/ obligated to fuck.

Swimming in the Lagoon

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The smooth, sandy bottom feels soothing underfoot. But there are random patches of quicksand, and if you step into that stuff you’ll plunge straight up to your waist in sticky silt that is crawling with leeches.

THINGS THAT GO POINK

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"How about our kids? We have an obligation to protect them from poinks." Cyrus snorted: "WE — gotta horse turd in yer pocket?"

Adventures in football

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Being immersed in the all-male dressing-room atmosphere erodes the awkward edges off a man, making him into a more rounded human being

Superman Vs. The Farmer

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Invisible Vestibules

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Sometimes the wind comes across the fields and you would swear that it can be known. Going along the one lane there I look out and see those vast spaces and then refocus on to closer on. Swinging the truck into a side road that goes far and far and then left, I pull into…

The Closet

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Her thirteen year old daughter had hung herself in the hallway closet of the old house. Now the closet was empty and unused. The door was locked.

Welcome Back

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Park Slope, Brooklyn, Present Day

Visions On The Beach

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I walked along the beach today, and there I saw them all; including the latest lost: little Tiven, Tommy, Michaela & my Paul. Grandma painted at her easel, set upon the dune. Uncle Eddie bent in half, laughing like a loon, Oliver growled…

Smack and the Alto Sax

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Heroin is an equal opportunity parasite but it worked particular damage on alto saxophonists in the 20th century.