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Not Sure If You're Actually Having Sex? I Can Help.

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When I stumbled upon evidence that the man I'd loved and trusted for 20 years had a secret girlfriend for the past 10 of those years, he tried to deny it.“We never had sex!” he told me. And I believed him. For about two minutes.“You never…

Coast to Coast

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No one knows that, while the ex-Area 51 guy delivered his rant, Art Bell left the booth for a Diet Coke.

Girl

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The tadpoles flipped on the brown mud bottom. She dipped one out and held it near, seeing it in her belly, shaping arms and feet and a small, blond head. She set it back and stood, breasts out, arms up. The ducks in the weed, eyes hard like hungry boys, waited for bread.…

Erasure

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All else is unmoved/ and relentless in its indifference.

Steps

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He deplaned Air France flight 9 from JFK to Charles de Gaulle airport at quarter past noon.

Not Good Enough

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So where does that leave me, Roscoe Loomis wondered, dismounting his silver, aluminum steed in his sweat-soaked, spandex outfit, and, clearing the saliva from his beard he walked over, checked and smiled, learning that the bike track's timing unit showed it was Roscoe's…

Giving Birth to the World

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Life's a contradiction.

Texas Weather Triptych

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I worry for the daffodils/ and there optimistic yellow bursts./ I worry for the over-eager clover,// prodigious green on crepe myrtles,/ even for the early green of nut grass.

A Story

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Like many little towns, ours has an archive. It is a catalog of everything that happens.

DMV

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When you bring information, it does not arrive.

Family Friend

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My student assistant was a comely young woman. A freckle faced blonde. She was from Ohio.

2 Little Paragraphs About Writing

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I write in the morning when the world is bendy.

Rapid Transit

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We’re on The Worm. I dread the part where the train goes under the bay. I hold my breath until we safely emerge.

Independent Living

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The transformation in their domineering, sour mother revised her children’s memories of their childhoods.

Getting over the man in the moon

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First have a good window seat

Ars Poetica (for Anonymous)

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Poetry is my rebellion/ against being what I’m not.

The Artist's Conk

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Whenever talk dies, or darkness gathers too closely around the breakfast table, everyone knows the list of ritual activities we can brightly suggest to skip the day forward.

The Piano Player’s Dead Rejoice

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Requires one of those leaps.

Working Girls

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In the summer when it's light out later it's my nature to linger a couple of hours in the park after work, just standing around watching the Downtown Divas working the corner, offering themselves to each male driver who stops for the light and I always joke with them about…

Two Weeks in a Dristan Land

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I smelled the bleach of burst anemones the sweet arousal of the Dungeness crabs the seaweed of sour twigs and feces

Not Lao-tzu's Magna Carta, xlvi - liv

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the Great Way itself is very smooth and straight,/but folks take to the challenge of rough, wild roads.

Glad the Moon Worked the Night Shift

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When we were seventeen, after her dad, the preacher, finished his Sunday night church services that required our mandatory attendance, we'd walk to my car in the pasture-turned parking lot holding hands and stop at the passenger-side car door to kiss deeply, get…

Framed Papers

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He fished a tissue from a hidden pocket and dabbed his forehead, then called the cops.

Death, looking over the poet's shoulder, whispers...

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Pre-mortem

Long Sticks Are Often Useful

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It was just lying there by the side of the road next to a mailbox, pockets turned out, weeds kinda rolled flat around it. I counted three nickels, a dime, and a cigar butt too. I could sure use the change for gum, but I didn't want to get near it. It looked dead,…

Something Else

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A Sometimes Niggling Notion

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A po'm

Missy

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If I had a daughter, this it how it would be. It would be all, Stand up straight, missy, shoulders back, no slouching, and she'd be sulky, sullen, pouting, wilful, and I'd see in her eyes, which would be my eyes, that she was starting to hate me, and I'd

Rwanda Suite: The Wild Man Scale

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Abominables do roam the earth; I know it.

Why Can’t God Send Us Some New Kind of Animal?

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I guess the ultimate, penultimate failure would be to write a love poem that turned on everybody but you.