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The Strongman used to weep alone in hissingle dusty tent at night, all of uscould hear him, sobbing, thinking about theone incredible time in his mostlymiserable life he accidentallybrushed his thick arm…
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I remember the tan guinea pig, dead of dehydration. Through the wire bars of her cage I viewed her body. She lay stiff on her side, stretched out, as if in her guinea-pig dream she had been running through grassland, open and close to the sky.
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Bag worms hang in their cloudy white hammocks. This is the month of webs when long-bodied yellow and black spiders sign their autographs.
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Even if your heart is as large as a small car, your tongue as heavy as two grown men—even then—you will have to carry it with you wherever you go.
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The first flight is effortless
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The suite of dark rooms/
extends forever./
It’s no big deal.
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Mist falls from the opaque sky and splatters crystals in your hair...
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Momma’s hands smell of vanilla.
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Based on length it looked like a note, lacking the deeper illustration found in full-fledged letters, but also missing were condolences and considering the subject, such sympathies might have seemed appropriate: Dear Mr. and Mrs. Madison, Katie is
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are my only real friends. They don't seem to mind my shuffling down the dirty sidewalks without acknowledging their mere scraggly presences like friendly tombstones. They are growing their hair out again. I've noticed that much. We've got a…
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Jesus came strolling
by in his sandally Jesus foot sandals.
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I am Gloria, age nine, standing with my left hand on the green gate to the yard of the farmhouse that I will always consider Home
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Translation’s not required—music/
sings itself complete and comprehensible
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It’s been a series of bad clams
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I get what you want done from me. You want the old one two sucker punch that goes straightaway through to the tenderest part of the aching heart, the one that tumbles you out of your old worn out gut wrenching way of living life for…
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you dug a hole inside my heart
and asked me if it hurt
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Maybe, after years of writing poems like letters, he began to notice that no one ever wrote him back.
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Nobody looks for Gina between the hours of four and five. Her father is on swing shift for the rest of the summer; his two o'clock- dinner plates are soaking in a sinkful of scummy water. Her mother is fanning herself in the shade of the wisteria, most of her…
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When she opens the door, I say hi and introduce her to my friend, a bottle of J.T.S. Brown. She laughs and tells me to come on in before I fall down.
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Lavender, a Liberal Betty, batty from hormones, in a fanciful fit, named her daughter Lavender. Husband Don winced. Brothers Donald, John, Billy, and Tom were puzzled and pleased by this sister, this girl, who was a little bit like them, yet not like them at…
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When we say "Nanoism is looking for twitter-fiction serials for its current contest," this is one example of what we mean.
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The box thuds at your feet: mug, plant, wedding photo, the 25-year pen.
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Her mother dressed her like a little girl would dress a doll.
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I try to envision long-haired men riding horses across a vast expanse, their faces blank as those of my students.
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I hate turnstiles and revolving doors
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and watch the bird play and squirrel play/
and the twitching of cottontail noses
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