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A Certain Boy

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Every single girl, from junior to senior (and a few counselors too, I suspected), wanted to make out with Marty Miller. Did he know how drunk with attraction I was?

Second Wave, 1944 (with notes)

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Here were men trying their best to kill other men....

Baby Carrot

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In my choppings, I come across a tiny carrot amidst the baby carrots. The runt if you will.

A Nerdy Valentine's Day Poem

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So I wrote you a poem Sorry if it’s geeky and weird But I’m not your traditional guy I mean I can’t even grow a beard

We Never Left

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Above our bellies we are beautiful women with luscious breasts. Where there is skin, believe me, it is flawless, irresistible. Most of us have long hair, but there are some among us who keep their heads close cropped for aerodynamic…

disparate haiku (mostly)

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faith in gravity/permitted them to extol/the guillotine's blade.

The Sun's Curtains

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It must be nice not to have to worry About certain things because those things are not yet In your circle, or in your circus, of life. I don't begrudge you for being almost grown in A much different, sweeter place and time. I'm thrilled By…

My Drunk Friend

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My drunk friend is built like a hastily packed trash bag; full of lumps and portending very dark things.

The Mythology of Rooms

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Old Church Slavonic

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Because it seems never to be beginning, always picking up in the middle with it’s long resonant tones, which themselves begin as if they’ve always been. Maybe that’s why we love old, sacred music. And by we I, of course, mean my two-year-old Charlie and m

MS Fragments Retrieved from a Garbage Disposal

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Mrs. Death was walking in mountains where everything around was still. Mr. Death? —in another hemisphere, wandering (last she’d heard) through a vast forest.

Lavender Blur

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Donna and I get out of the car...

Christian Bell

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Night LifeThen things started getting weird. I could give you a time frame but it was back when times didn't matter really, one hour as good as the next and the minutes used to be minutes not the digital counting that makes this crazy world now spin. Here was…

If only one more thing

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If I could say only one thing more to Tony who died a month ago, there is one thing I could find to say

Bunions

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You should really see my father's bunions. They are as obnoxious as fuchsia bowling bowls.

The road is nothing but a blind beggar banging a tin cup against the sun's piled up with snow front door

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alright, alright but not so much of a friendly little cigar-chomping companion-like a friendly ghost! That sweeping hair of longed for sleeping only awaits you once you've drowned too …

The Road a Scripture

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Granny says Jesus works quiet and curious but mama leaving with the UPS man weren’t no great mystery.

Paper Thin

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She slipspaper thinshe ripspaper thin

Always Vera

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“The price of everything's gone up,” I say. “But I don't have to buy you chocolate if it's costing too much.” She says nothing and bends her head again, gnarled hands slowly breaking a family-sized chocolate block into pieces.

On a Black and White Photography Tour of the Moon with a Sweetheart of a Ghost hanging on My Arm

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Suppose you could bend your whole body backwards like she did, you know, like a taunt powerful bow and arrow kit, and push the rest of your truest self forward into his concentrating face, just like Georgia O'Keeffe in…

Memoir 2.1

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Anyone thinking they aren’t alone on life’s journey has their head up their ass.

tears, et cetera

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ghosts are local plagues/of unexpended grief—tears/can't be bodiless.

Darker

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The moon poured more/ light into the sky/ yet we kept on talking

Art Class

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The model takes off her clothes and poses nude for our class. We draw her likeness on paper.

The Savage (K2)

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Rises monstrous out of the Baltoro GlacierPlaying poker with oxygen levelsPlays leap frog with embolisms.Malice and vanity join forces somurder guns the air even beforethe Death Zone. Down suits, bold and cockyregisters the climber's ambitions. The Serac , a…

Pollock's Last Snowflake?

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The question posed a voluptuous riddle. Were these frenzied silhouettes gestures of Jackson Pollock’s dribble?

The Vorpal Blade

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Pow! I shoot him through his jelly donut.

A Far Cry From Living

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I don't want no laugh track I'm trying to find something that's real

Drowning By The Pool(2nd Revised Version)

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The entire room seems waiting for me like an octopus behind a closed, chained door. The monk of the lamp knows he will get his daily turn-on if he prays loudly and just enough for it. The favorite chair has my blue dent in its punched…

Two Little Words

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I'll never be a Republican Megadonor or a Doomed Aviatrix. But I'm okay with that.