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April

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...he thought often of the rollicking waves, of being pulled under, of being weightless and senseless...

All-Night Cartoon Party

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'Hey, are you supposed to be from a cartoon or something?' said the Grim Reaper. I had to take a big drink before I could reply. I didn't know what to say, so I said 'Could I see your watch, please?' He looked down my dress while he thought about it.

Royal Coachman

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" trout hovered in a sun-dappled pool"

soft soap

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you were very very small, you were everso small, you were like – the tiniest creature, hopping about on one leg

The Rest Nowhere

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A screaming comes across the brain

Tremor

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I ask because she's the animal person, not me. She understands animal behavior.

The Silence of Harold

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It's been sixteen days since I spoke with another soul. I don't mind much, but I know enough about people to know most would think I'm mighty odd. Muriel, for example. She'd be pissed as all get out. …

Auden at Swarthmore

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So I went to see the wrinkled and rumpled poet, who insisted on reading from memory, stumbling through his sheaf of poems.

Picture Window

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You call your wife. “Do you see what I see?” you ask.

Disappearing Dirt

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The mulch vendor is a crook but we have no choice, not with the shortage of soil. Have to guard the stuff, put alarm wires around the garden, leave a friend in charge to spot the thieves if you go away overnight. If you…

The Way Home

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I’m in the Grand Central Station bar-- the one at the top of the stairs-- waiting for my husband to enter so I can watch him. The bar is crowded, everyone getting in that last beer before heading back to whiney children and tired spouses.

Egg

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We soft boiled the free range egg, cracked it, and were surprised to find nothing in it.

Curse at Your Smoking Gun

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// opening act: van featuring balloon featuring drugs // headliner: lubv ya babe

Why I Don't Write Sex Scenes Anymore

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I’ve had my face talked off by those types (and I’m sure you’ve met a few) who need to say and hear “special” words, and they go "unh-hunh, unh-hunh, o yeah, o yeah, unh hunh."

Unsaid

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whistling some blithering tune, trotting around the kitchen in his underwear with his ribs, a long row of meatless tragedies that screamed for something other than the meal he was making.

Scrawls From My Blue Period

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The following was written under disagreeable circumstances, in that I was present for them.

How to Survive Your First Breakup (Anxiety)

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And don’t you dare start panicking. Just sit there silently, letting the truth that you’re alone sear the back of your neck until it starts to feel cold.

Like the Goats

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...

This Isn't a Title, But I'm Fingering Your Mother, While You're Sitting at the Computer, Reading This.

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[ETIQUETTE ... DECORUM ... BOUNDARIES ... BAH!]

destiny

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destiny

The Pocahontas Forgiveness Goes Viral

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You generated coal light from your gait as easily as the new sun crawls through a sleepy forest, without worry over hot spillage, or who might be horribly blinded or grossly revealed or given visions in that rare moment of wet earth and…

STONE

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Man waters Earth with his eyes.

The Planet Will Erase Us

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We control/ nothing.

Oh, Clyde. I must be your Bonnie.

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This is the best kind of crime scene. Spattered like gore from gunshots, I'm left covered in trace evidence.

2006, What I Wanted

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freedom from my mind

Future Imperfect, a Jeremiad

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the birth of a long, dark age// where the wealthy will be eaten by the poor/ and the poor will be eaten by disease

Souvenir Des Choses du Passé

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Let's say maybe you're in a place your mind has never left, and let's say maybe it's Mississippi, and let's say maybe it's summer with kudzu throbbing green all around you, and let's say maybe she's a Sagittarius girl, standing in that driveway with her young breasts…

Breathless

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I sit down next to a youngster on the couch. “Would you like to see?” she asks. “See what?” I reply....

Shoot the Moon

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Neither of us thought of real winning. We set about brilliant losing, dark angel forms of luck and greed, the desire, the craving, the need to lose so strenuous that one wins; we tied at thirteen.

Three Cigarette Stories.

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My mother is private with her grief. Since my father’s death last year there has been almost no talk of him. When she got back from the funeral, she put his clothes in boxes for Goodwill, and rearranged the furniture in the den. She won’t discuss what