Stories tagged poem

Running In My Veins

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They say that inside the veins of every Bohemian lies an entire army of dead alcoholics. I suppose this is true of me too.

What’s the Dark Matter Doing to Us in the Dark?

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Will it// scare us shitless when we can finally/ draw ourselves a likeness of it?

Unwitnessed

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A short poem.

Borgo Was 29 on His Birthday

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Borgo said 1979/So Borga remembered 1979/for him, just in case,/for what if:/ a driver license/or an act of god/or a marriage license/or even a lease/for an apartment/you never know, she said/ so he said, okay/you remember,/so she did.

Je Suis Vincent

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I saw Vincent one day, sitting at a café table that was situated right next to the quays of the Seine, with another artist by the name of Bernard. Vincent had his back to me, and he was leaning forward in his usual hyper-excitement, gesturing wildly

Land Fill at Morning

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The gulls/ have somehow mastered the art// of avoiding the nooses of six-pack/ plastic rings

Je Suis Bernard

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one of Vincent's ears was all bandaged over because he had attempted to cut off a piece of it, and handed it to her as if it were a gift.

A Change in Status on the Facebook of Cement

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First he wrote it in wet cement at the intersection: “Tad Loves Kimberley,” with a big heart around it. He was real proud, you could see. But then later on that year, the graffiti began appearing everywhere, on all the store walls: “Kimberle

Hiding Places

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A frozen heart is without failures

How the Body Prepares Itself

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it corrupts the smells// and flavors of the world/ and plants its swollen face

Strange Signs at the Outskirts to Paradise

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before a strange sign posted at the outskirts to paradise, reading: Caution Styrofoam Peanuts Crossing in an area of high winds and strong convictions.

Manifest Destiny

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Will it take the rise/ of cyber guerillas to finish it/ in the way it should be finished

Philip Guston and the Tomb

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You will see a lot of horseshoes have been piled on top of the tomb, or else a large number are making their way toward the top, crawling up the steps of the tomb one by one. They lean over the next step and tilt forward, since they have to achieve

The Other, Less-Successful Shakespeare

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Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your money, not your ears, because quite frankly I’m a little in arrears.

The Day the Internet Went Haywire

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I sip the fuck out of a cup of coffee thinking, All is sugar, All is sugar, but all is not sugar. This is like the equivalent of a long wait for fast food, and there is nothing worse than a long wait for fast food. And you can quote