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Precatio contra violo

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The drip of rank meat, his muzzle, his back-barbed tongue: red.

the true bliss of objects is entropy

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What the tumbler meant

2001, What I Wanted

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feet that would run until their soles were pages of Gideon’s Bibles, worn too thin to touch

Minerva Gets Pierced by Love

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Minerva one night had a change of plans, for Mr. Wright knocked on her door in the form of a potbellied perv with a Vaseline mustache.

The Poet Reads

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If ever I read a poem aloud It will not be from a podium’s shelter

DIGGING

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The steady sound of shoveling for the past three hours would have woken her, should have made her come to the window...

The Dry World

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drunkards indulge, addicts abuse

Yesterday That Monday's Sun

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wrenched its lower back trying so hard to lift too many stacked November clouds off the newly shaved prickly heads of the slowly freezing trees,like ring weights,and had to spend the last of its hours setting in a small square box in…

Boston Marathon

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As I walked down to the Subway, I thought to myself that now, after the horror in Boston, everybody looks like a terrorist.

Wings

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The trouble began in October, when Ava, an embittered receptionist who worked at a small museum housed in a five-story Westside brownstone, discovered that the floors were littered with enormous grey feathers

halloween haiku

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a dry bony voice/from a desiccated soul/coughs up its own throat.

Now and Then

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We wore cowboy hats and jeans in the pictures. They both came off once his camera disappeared.

REJECTED

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Your specific request that I never submit to you again; ever, is cause for puzzlement, yet strangely motivating.

Two More Pennies Towards the Proper Procedure of the Pudding, If You Please

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I always thought I would feel your hand, always, Lay with you as we flew higher together, laugh with You in the little spaces left between certain trees, like tiny blue flowers that only appear suddenly, made secretly Of…

The After-Sex Song

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You could hear her coming from a long way off as she kept trying to catch her breath, like she was getting the fun rattled out of her bones. But it was laughter, laughter that kept on filling up her belly from the inside, and she was having tr

Tariff Happy

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Expose those for whom freedom is greed.

Best

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Two thousand and two was the worst year for love in the history of sports. People carried their sadness around in wheelbarrows.

Ornamental Onion

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i imagined myself & i was phlox saxifrage pompom ranunculus poppy anemone ornamental onion rattlesnake red ribbon nerine & i loved the painted tongue & i wore the rattlesnake

I stood next to Richie Havens

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fuck you Charles Bukowski go cry in your eggs in a Jersey diner

Reconstruction

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My favorite lie is that he'd escaped the South Tower before it collapsed. Smoke inhalation erased his way home. Mine's better than mother's version: a stranger hurled herself onto him. The truth is when they stopped search and rescue, mother told father, Go. Even dead, his…

55 words #8

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Weight of faithlessness... Mist Of bodily Existence Grave expectations for the future

le Misérable

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I read the last line and close the book with a smack. “That ends that section,” I tell him. “Coming up is the chapter titled ‘The Ancient History of the Sewers of Paris.'

There's A Place I Know

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“Reminds me of my safari in Africa. Somebody forgot the corkscrew and for several days we had to live on nothing but food and water."- W.C. Fields Around the next corner is a dark green door a dark…

Playlist

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I made you a playlist

The Tiger Who Jumped Over the Moon

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Lord knows we all tried to stop him from doing it. You're crazy we said. This makes you look like a lunatic. They'll hunt you down in even heavier droves now. You've upset their delicate memories. I tried to stop him. That's cow territory my friend…

THE GRANDMOTHER OCCUPIES

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In her blanched beauty, seated in a silver deck chair, with complacent socialist ways

what time is it really is it?

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. . . the roar of fire speaks lasting heat . . . .

Harpoon

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he’s recognizable in the earliest images of misery: a hand shoving a young gladiator before the lion; the fire devouring a witch in Salem. And here he is. Again.

Street Parking

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“Everything is neon, “ I say.

Dead Crows

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The night my husband became a transvestite, crows started dying. They fell from the sky like black umbrellas, hitting the ground with a thud. A rainstorm of birds. I figured it was a virulent strain of bird flu that drifted into the clouds and killed them