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Childbed (cenotaph song)

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Those who don’t die, desire, descend. No song aloft arises from my irk. The seeing chieftain, not of sea, nor sand, nor boat, I till nightfall stammer alive, dig boneless trenches against tiding dregs and lathe, hunt, wallow, plow the hours, call in awei

Jail Bait

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Jessie and Hannah drop mescaline together, and screw in an abandoned storefront crash pad. We call it the Rock Shop.

Or Do You Love It?

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published in The Doctor T.J. Eckleburg Review.

Banana Republic

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I would love to believe that this poem might sell a poetry book

maggots are small minutes in the trash i saw them

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maggots are small minutes in the trash i saw them

You May Be

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beautiful, but you don't own beauty. You may be sexy, but you don't own desire. You may be smart, but you don't own wisdom. You may be good and kind, but you don't own love. You may like trees, but you don't own the forest. You may like to…

The Poisoning

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The Poisoning I used to call my dad Serpico. Thirty years on the police force, and though a respected officer, he never fit in. He never had beers with the guys at the end of a shift or engaged in the more lewd locker room talk. None of the other cops were privy to which…

Indulgence

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I crave the confines of the convent

Écriture de la chatte

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YKK is a zipper manufacturer whose initials stand for Yoshida Kōgyō Kabushikigaisha. A boy told me (and I believed as a child) that YKK was my name in code.

Your house, after the electricity is gone

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Shred the roses he posted, fling the petals like slideshows of storms.

heart-shaped stones

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heart-shaped stones love, devotion no way

Forecast for Mid-December

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In the next week or two, the red oak/ will loose and lose its leaves

Conversations

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That won’t kill me, will it? I asked. Maybe, the doctor said.

Flight

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Fortunately, when the bird hits the sliding glass doors in our den, I know what to do.

Assessing Beauty

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We can’t be sure. Perhaps it is/ some slight exaggeration of one/ or several elements that steals our breath.

Guardians

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His toenails were so long they curled under and into the black leathery pads of his feet. They lightly clacked on our linoleum, tap shoes made of thick petrified roots. He didn't seem to mind.

Eggshells

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The eggs got badder as the cook got madder

Briefly, on Dive Bars

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Every dive bar has a Max. Max is an elderly man. He wears a dented ball cap. He sits at the end of the bar, right along where it curves and then slams into the wall. You may find it cliché, but when Max enters the room, the patrons actually announce, “

MAO

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She was as distant as Mao, someone I never met, but whom everyone carried in their eyes,

Powerless

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7:23. The grid abandons us.

Borges in the SUB

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"There's Borges."

Wipe Your Feet

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I recognized the smile. It was a “I’ve got you where I want you now,” smile.

The Last Time

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Stalks were scythed to submission one stroke at a time

Aphrodite in Ruins

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He needed an editor for his Yale dissertation, the shifting borders between criminal justice and the internet. But the sex was inevitable. He was six two. I was blonde. I don’t think we liked each other very much, but that wasn’t important.

Place de la Revolution

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We are a funny story, my brother and I. Twins of Africa in a kitchen on wheels the size of a cupboard, we serve tourists baguettes and pain au chocolat, in the gardens adjoining the square where the tricoteuses did their knitting, heads were chopped and..

Colors of the Last Bright Morning

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I am a housekeeper at a private women's college in upstate New York.

Burial of the Dead

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No canopic jars and fine Egyptian cotton.

End Time

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and you fall down.

Neactains, Quay St.

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Rarely is Quay Street so clean, Monday in rain, Neactain’s ticking over with Slow jazz and crosswords, Stout and steaming anoraks.

The Hole Between Them

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Opposite the foothills, on the field's southern edge, was a stand of old eucalyptus trees, each one a gnarled sentry with bark like burnt skin peeling from its trunk.