Stories tagged poetry


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The line of the unemployed wrapped back on itself like an accordion pleat and extended all the way across a great hall You could see the faces of them, bluish and drawn under the dim florescent lighting First in line were laid-off be

Miss Winter Solstice

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The palm trees bent upon her passing stride From fishnet stockings running up her hide;

Wild Dreams Of Reality, 3

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The following day, I was so nervous that I decided to have a drink to keep a lid on my nerves. It wasn't even noon yet. They say that's when you know it's getting bad, and that drinking has become a problem. But I hadn't gone out with anyone in over fi

The Statue of a Writer

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As I sat down finally, finally to write, some brooding heretical hour of the night, with my ballpoint in hand, poised to blot page, Time gathered momentum, although I did not age...

Puppet X: 1

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I know you, ladies and gentlemen We see the near future through you Your factual face as you sit indoors Youthless In your ordinary chair "Mice run through their vision Mice run through the plot Oh la, la, and memory is

The Snowbank

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Liked his poetry! He didn't even like his poetry. Christ, get a MFA, write a stupid, topical book and anyone could be a hero. Had the squirrel moved? Ha, ha, squirrel you spiteful varmint!!


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He is poised erect before me. I take pleasure in soft skin that does not betray the strength of his cock, firm and yet vulnerable beneath my fingertips. With my hands, I coax him to his full length, girth. Tonight I ignore the heat of my Delta and bow my head in worship…

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 1

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I lived for a time on Red Square in Berkeley. You may have heard of it. It was run by Von Rotten (that’s just plain Von), who was considered the Vladimir Lenin of the Foul Language Movement of Poetry (FLMP, pronounced “Flimp,” sometimes “Flump,”

A Scribbling on the Walls

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What is it you look for on this page? Where is it you wander to?


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In his tiny fist he held the world In his other his mothers hand

How The Sixties Ended: or, The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 2

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While we were drinking that warm beer from Golden, Colorado, a girlfriend of Allison’s strode into the house, saying, “Okay, Janov, tomorrow’s your trial. So, what are we going to do about it?” Everybody called this girl Creamcheese. “Your tr

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 2

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The next day was my faculty trial, and things grew real intense around the campus of that little college. A large crowd of students began to gather around the base of the building that housed the administrative offices, where my hearing was being held. Th

Puppet X: 2

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It's important to sound human, I know To get fragile near your mother I myself get glimpses now and then Once, eating chicken, staring at the inside of a muscle Once during a bad thunderstorm while running down th

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 3

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We woke up at a rest stop on a knoll overlooking the Platte River, somewhere in Nebraska. Allison and I were under a blanket on our mattress when Greg and Steve peered in the door. “Psst! Janov, you awake yet? The sun’s been up for like a whole hou

Reading the Wen Fu

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I don't know enough mystery or the big bang or poison