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Suky Tawdry's Cab

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yet fiction, despite contrary reports, from two ends of the American spectrum, does not mean lies, in my HUM

Love Not the X

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for he shall inherit your dream.

A New York Moment

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Harvey C. Hamby was drunk. Usually he held his liquor well, but tonight he was off his form. Stumbling over an ottoman, he landed on the floor in a sodden sprawl. As he fell, his left foot shot out behind him and socked Glenda Steinberg in…

The Magic of the Old Man

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As far as I knew it was just an old man and his wife who lived in this house, but not really. I mean if you had seen what every person on that block had, you would have realized that many lived there, well many beings.

Silent Noodles, Swimming Pools and the ACLU: What I Learned From Magazines This Week

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You might want to think twice before inviting Henry David Thoreau to your next dinner party...

Residual

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Our afterlife depends upon// what interesting shape

The Threshold of Unfinished Business

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Uh oh, the dry cleaning ticket

Years After

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Years After she can go home.

Ripening

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My face turns to promise more, but my insides are browning.

The Woman Down the Hall

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I remember years ago my mother saying to me, don’t get involved with the woman down the hall. She didn’t even know this particular woman; it was just a general pronunciation, that somehow being female and living down the hall meant bad things.

Acedia

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Nothing new this numbing year 'til now-/ a forced recovery of voice through// recollection of the catalogue of regrets,/ disappointments, and the long collapse

Red Hot Hyperbole

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She came from the land of rumpled sheets. She was the very definition of sex. She was the breeze through the wind chimes of his heart. One might say that she actually invented the orgasm. All mirages are this way. Perfect until they disappear. They

The Polymath

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Now that I am dead, my god will fight your god...

Spellbinding

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If she weaves words that are true enough

Often I think on who pulls the strings,

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In a plush leather chair, / high up a shiny skyscraper,

Molotov Cocktail Poems

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The new theaters require C-4 poems

When the Ocean Was Ours

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The Ocean used to be ours. When the stars were still fire and they were the only light burning though the dim, hazy nights, the ocean was ours. Before the smog, and the lights that were carried by the men who rose from the sea, the ocean was ours. We…

White Noise

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In the small hours, when the crackling of the embers had stopped and the room had gone cold, the boiler kicked in and the pipes began to clang. He was half-roused out of his sleep, and then slipped under again to dream of Marley's fettered ghost.

Robots Make Our Food

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“This is where we suck the skin off the beasts,” remarks the General, pointing to a small white tube dangling from the ceiling. “We coat the mouthpiece with mushroom sauce, and as soon as they wrap their stinky bulbous lips around it... VROOOP!"

Ghost Town

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She had just done it in the backseat with the man she decided would be her father. Or maybe it was the cast of his eyes under the dim bar lights. Maybe she insisted that this had to be done, to relive the night under the stars, under a dented roof of a station…

Buddha in the backyard

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He sits ...

Improvisation on a Theme of Absolute Absence

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Perhaps nothing has never existed;/ perhaps something always has

Horny

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Cornelia stared in the mirror wishing them away. She'd locked herself in the bathroom for several hours now, but no one had even noticed. Her surprise at cutting her hand while washing her hair was nothing compared to horror she felt when she realized exactly what she'd cut…

Left to Leaves

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Golden yellows and oranges and reds that could have been scratching their toes now just tear the skin around her Achilles' heel.

I Confess to God in the Shower

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During fifth grade, I was called / closeted queer and tall faggot.

Seven Forever

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It was my fault.

The Tree That Took Brooke’s Faith Away

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The thing was, though, she couldn’t shake the image of that dead dog she had found inside the black trash bag she thought could be first base, right before the twins said, Screw the game, let’s swing.

Meteorology

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Among the raindrops/ occasional plopping snowflakes.

Tweeting "War and Peace" by Bobbie Ann Mason and Meg Pokrass

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by Bobbie Ann Mason and Meg Pokrass at The Nervous Breakdown website: http://www.thenervousbreakdown.com/mpokrass/2012/10/tweeting-war-and-peace-with-bobbie-ann-mason/

Hummingbird hearts in a breadbox

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We married in the ruins of a pachinko hall, the tiny bones in the pocket of your tracksuit luring a pack of wild dogs out from the underpass.