Stories tagged poetry

On the Nature of War and the Rumors of War

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I decide to cut myself free of music, / to take a slender knife and get at the core of my boil / or maybe use a piece of pottery to scrape away all traces—

There's Not a Single Word

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for you that I'd be happy with. What you see before you is the squashed ball of a sad attempt to hold you to that moment--but each pictured mug begs another; each air-colored sheet orders more cloud,more striking birds sending more…

Saving Hands

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And he was happy.

Alternative Lifestyles and Fetish Line

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It's for real people like you. / Hit the pound sign once ...

Raking Leaves with Billy Collins

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...we walk the yard back to the house, wipe our shoes, then disappear behind the door to our bowls of chicken soup...

Translating Sappho

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sway an

Game Day

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Being awake for the sunrise, that is the good planfor writing poemsand listening to enginesbirdsand bus stop silence.Now, I'm going to smokeout back on my roof porchfrom this atticapartmentin this desert land of big-titted blondesand listen to stadium fansrage…

public apology (or, why most people hate monks)

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I want separate twilight a room with no candles, plates, phones or music a glass ceiling to smash when my head's full I want tiny hand-

Memory Box

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Soft voices in private, in the street, city noise violence disappears she blinks her eyelids and I can hear the lashes intertwine and pull clear.

For A Beautiful Face On Night’s Striptease

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Bodied in you all insignia of womanly clings, fingers infinite to the dew permutations of beauty and beauty in parasol.

My hood

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My father was a writer and a great man, and his father was a writer, as was the one before him, and he was a great writer, too.

In Portland, Where It Rains

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So many opportunities for mud can be found in these hills,

Chamber Music

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...coughed hallelujahs, and guilt to feed us...

Every Time I

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start to breathe my songs into your ear they back out colored by what I've come to think you might be expecting to hear from me-- which scares the shit out of me. And dear one this keeps the sky so still that it becomes crystal clear in its own…

Love Poem with Eyebrow

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will wait, if need be, for as long as it takes this jungle to become our familiar country