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My Son Thinks He's French

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My son thinks he's French.His accent was cute at first, but it's starting to get on my nerves. If he asks for another glass of Beaujolais I'm gonna go to jail for child abuse.Yesterday, I walked upstairs to make him turn his new Jacques Brel album down and I swear it…

Pillow

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The sky was an over-bleached sheet, stretched to the point of ripping. Everything worn but clean. He was saying he'd be happier if we lived in Canada. The sun seemed very close, like a star at the top of a Christmas tree. Maybe I could pull it down. Our baby had…

Peace in the Backyard

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No lies in the sky

Mick Dever

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The P-36 used for gunnery exercises was twitchy and stubborn...

Soon, and for the Rest of Your Life

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. . . and the last thing you’ll smell will be new-cut pine.

Shoot

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Dear Brandon Lee: I know that you're dead and can't respond to letters, but I've always felt a connection to you.

Subj: re: doing time ...

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The jail, where I stayed for 48 hours, gave me enough information to write a 180-page book, something I resisted setting out upon due to the insult of it.

My First Winter in Massachusetts

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My first winter in Massachusetts feels medieval: cold, dark, and endless.

Incompetent Translation: Le Bateau ivre

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At five o’clock in the afternoon, at five o’clock / in the afternoon

dream girl

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friends come in dreams

Let’s Us Not Exaggerate

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Call him a hobo or homeless or bum or junkie.

Rehab

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Well, I finally checked myself into this what you call a “ Facebook Rehab Clinic” up here just about 40 miles outside of Kalispell, Montana in a little town called Gulag and, as I'm sure you can guess, there's no posting or commenting or liking anything anymore…

On Work

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From my resume'.

Lemony snickers on Route 66

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Went back to his cab and returned with a whip...

Through the Looking Glass: Humpty Dumpty 2011

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“When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.”

Snatch XII

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No. No. No.

Contract

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We discussed the epic poems/ and agreed to write a new one.

The Ballad of the Summer Grains

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It is a day of swallows and grasshoppers, of white clouds and suntanned arms. In the yellow field wheat ears burn, lit by fantasies. One of wheat, one of rye. Summer love, holiday love is in the air. Under the thickness of the harvest, their roots search, call each other.…

The Body in the Other Room

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I couldn’t parse the grammar of her body nor decode the secret softness of her neck.

Paris in the the Spring

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he thought of her / longingly

Music

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Five micros

Light

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Children imagine dying all the time, especially when someone in their life, someone close, has died. Children's games often include pretend dying, flopping around after being shot for about three minutes, choking, falling to the ground and…

This Thing

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I'm sure someone somewhere must havefelt something like it before. Imean I've never been able tohave this kind of deep longing asif you might want to forget everythingyou know. I always figured that funny stuff onlyhappened to folks in a foreignfilm. Not to some guy…

Crows and the Gunshot

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We'll Thelma-and-Louise it, I urged, Bonnie-and-Clyde it, she bettered, Sundance-and-Butch it, I proffered but she was already leaning in for a kiss.

The Right Thing

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His feet are the size of thumbs, the segments of his toes no larger than grains of rice.

Crisis Junkie

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  A lot of people are like this--they thrive on On conflict   My bartender is that way-she likes the Confrontation She wants to fight and argue and haggle And I never related to this In anyone Well, people are scared, or pretend to be Scared at the bar. Some…

Elephant.

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How could he care less what those below thought, when everything below him was demonstrably beneath him?

Tuesday, Before Noon

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It came up heads so he is going first. He puts on a condom and gets in

The Grave of Rimbaud

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I visited the grave of Rimbaud. / It was pale blue

Lancelot Meets Goya Meets Cortázar Meets Mowat

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to say that he was doing fine