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Finding the bog body

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It’s a bitch of a day, devious. It started out calm and then those monsoon showers hit. The lads legged it back to the vans for a bit of a warm sup. He was going to follow them. The rain machine-gunned the window.

Cat People #22

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When Kat returned home from The East Street Wars, she learned that her epileptic lover, White Dog, died from madness

Beckett not Joyce

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Gorgonzola. It's what she was to bring this time. Plumtree's potted meat. What it was last time.

Suite

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but most times/ it’s just improvisation// with phrases of unknown origin/ swirling in my head

Criticism of the Dead

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The wind has no voice and yet we listen, perhaps imagining the ramblings of a mad man

The Creature, to an Empty Chair

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It is pain taking a form, Plato’s dream, born from your hands father that rejected me, giving me the color of abandonment, eyes dulled by isolation, a body deceased without life-giving touch.

Walking with the Moon

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I heard a voice. It was calling me as from a far-off cloud. I listened, holding my breath, and heard it again, though fading away, barely audible. If I hadn't known my name I wouldn't have decrypted it. Three hazy syllables clearly detached with a sigh between each of them.…

In Real Time

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We are the same shits/ we were in the Bronze Age

Big Barf Theory

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We’re lucky it/ was chunky spew,

Wasps' Nest

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Here’s how you do it. First you get a ladder, a long one.

MR. WOODCHUCK

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fat furry marmots who play hide and seek

Post-Op

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She tells Tuesday's lover that there's nothing wrong with cheap thrills without anesthesia,

A Swallow of Cola

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"... he likes the hair starting to grow under my arms and he likes the smell there when my deodorant is wearing off. "

Triolet

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the magic is our making

The World is Bigger

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It is best not to judge.

Heat

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Flames dance behind glass

After the Hoopla

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It is imperfect,/ eroded by the optics// of light, space/ and orbital mechanics.

At This Particular Moment

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in time there is nothing more important for meto write than this line. It isn't defined in the way you'd like perhaps, but it doesn't matter because it will be true, and you will be true, and I will be the message you get. Some signal has…

American Birthdays

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Cherry was America's least favorite pie. Her mother made it every year for her father's birthday because "daddy doesn't like cake." America had to wash the bowls, the wooden spoon, the plates and finally the Pyrex dish. Her brother got to "contribute" by climbing the tree…

The Heart Jar

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The diner on the corner is one of those Disneyfied modern cut-outs trying to mimic the actual thing but failing utterly. The street, a vein of hipness running through an Ivy League campus that is still trying to cling to a time when it all meant something

Dithyrambic

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What's that snitch doin' here?

Span

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That’s a long time/ to live with the certainty/ of your death

Pins

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The wind is wet today I can't tell you where sky meets sea only that it matters I can't explain why. I've triedCan't see the horizonbut I know that we have drawn itfingers tracing far pastthe edge of blind infinitywhere we sang stars to sleepand pinned our…

Excommunicado

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not every punishment proceeds / without a hitch

Ankles

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At five o’clock Jake joins the crowd at the back door, walks through the slush to the parking lot with Betty Boop.

Odysseus as Superintendent

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No king of Ithaca, but of each/ whining, banging, dust–clouded island/ of focused, physical work

The portrait

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Gestures we would like to make in the solitude of a café terrace ... Early in the morning ... She's sitting there, seems shivering. Grey dress, red scarf. Her eyes move. I try to meet them - small, vague black clouds which pass, without resting, by mine. She drinks her…

Texturality

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A.The poem of rational progression is dulling.Make the leap. Go beyond juxtaposition to collision.We like poetry that does double duty, triple duty, quadruple duty. We like poetry that mixes the grit, poetry that has the texture of complexity.Reason asserts an…

Faces of Death Revisited

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He looks outside, sees everything disappearing like crumbing cookies into what appears to be a giant mouth.

Graybeard – a Series

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The abundances of age/ are of commodities/ no known demographic values: