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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    There are one million ginko trees in manhattan. Weeping their leaves on the slate sidewalks. There are ten million pennies in the fountains, Washington Square, Union Square. Seven million panes of glass in the Freedom Tower. At least nine subway lines. Red, blue, yellow, orange? ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Headlights breaking over the ridge, rain obscured windshield, with the wipers squeaking like new shoes- uncomfortable, uneasy on the firmament. The grass at attention in the cold drizzle of fall, the leaves freeing themselves to fall under tires, in gutters. As my knuckles whiten ac...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    The dirt beach hugs to the wake-ridden river flow, a strip of unearthly green which laps at mud and our wayward toes. In its body I know the long fish dwell their silver sides slithering and cold. It is a beautiful mirror with no bottom, no end I can see and I sink down because ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    The smoke of fireworks held still in the streetlamp halo, the orange illumination making a London fog from hooligans' shenanigans. It was a freeze frame of some other cosmic time and place, the stiff fog hanging as though glued there in sky. No breeze to stir it and carry it away. ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I make voices from the white noise, let them entertain me. They are small and cunning and say great large things into my ears. Slumped in the grasp of industrial chairs, I am hugged by itching polyester. I make these sounds speak, so I don't have to. They have taken my wor...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    It frightened her, the audacity he had of reaching out and touching the painting. The sign which said, pretentiously, "Please do not touch the artwork" apparently did not apply to him. She slapped his hand away before she realized what she was doing. Being a grown man, he shoul...
  • Fiction > All Fiction
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    That gdamned fish swam in the tub, still. Leaving a grossly green scum-ring around the waterline. Sick, she thought. The fish opened and closed its mouth rhythmically, mockingly pretty much. She looked at this prehistoric thing floating in her bathtub. Like some f*ing Japanese pain...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Like the crackling of campfire embers we burn, shouting our profanities to the heavens. Who could care less for our pain, our misguidance and partying. Our sparkling bodies decaying fast in parking lots- how American of you, the paper crowns atop our swelling heads. Stick...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    His sticky fingers reached anxiously for the sleeping bag, grasped onto its straps and flung it into the trunk. With this being done, he licked the very last of the jam from his index finger and thumb and grinned at a job well done. The trunk of his small sedan was crammed tight with supplies for ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Oh America- you have no regrets in your neon signs. All the hopeless desert nights spent wandering the rail yards shipyards backyards glimmering lawns and swimming pools at dusk the infestation of middle America by the cronies and crooks with their hands raised, yelling from th...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    It ran through his veins. Thin and blue, flutter-pulse of nerves. Blood salty and free, clear and cool. And the sea ran through him. Belonging to the sea, the water forever lapping over his cerebrum- he is a thousand gold fishes, shiny coins in the fountain. Birt...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I drop the needle onto Death Cab. I feel your heart drop as I climb into bed. Some electric current. There are eels in our blankets. I'll shake them out of the wide-open windows as we shiver in our underwear. Your indentations in the left side of the bed have gone cold in the...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I'll shake out the night, our dirty laundry flapping in the cold. Hanging on the line, it catches the dew and glitters. There is a glint of dawn on the sheets, a shadow of blush at the edges, and I smooth them until the wrinkles return to their youth. There is a breath of ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I sit at the invisible vanity, painting my lips fiery red with curlers in my hair. And my slim wrists mirror the triangular bends in my waist as I sit perched as a bird, gazing in the looking glass. Long robe around my feet, sultry sheer just like the advertisement in the department...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Sputtering in the winter sea, the spitting salt hurls itself into the harbor, up onto the docks and past the weeping lobster boats piled high with traps. The lights on the shoal flicker and blink from the lighthouse, dim and glow in the open sea. Away into the green as it swell...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    And I will walk up to you and kiss you on the mouth. Steal your secrets and stitch them together in my mind. I will know you so fully from one moment of electric static. It will betray you, my mouth, this chance and surprise. You will waver, a hesitation manifested in trembling h...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    The faces passing by blur into surrealist manifestos, written in their demure splotches I am searching constantly, all these blank slates. Passing in 35s and 40s, I am lost in panic searching. Their souls are splattered, I am reenacting Pollack on my lawn. Standing with a ga...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    The park was exceptionally dark that night. All the street lamps had burnt out over the course of the past three weeks and now we were forced to walk through the tangles of jungle gyms and monkey bars in a vast void. Our hands swung freely by our sides, our left hands with cigarettes bobbing from th...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I would wade through every postmodern sunset to find you on the overpass. The quick silence of chemical wind on your lips, wisps of atmosphere snaking through your hair, facing a blaze unrivaled, even in your gawky bones, they rattle as we run through the falling sky. A so...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I will count the indents of your spine, map the hollows of your back, place them. Keep them there, in an order, to save you. In whatever way I may, chart you, a preservation of how you are. There, a body. No way to chart spirit. But a topography of some mysticism lies wi...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    The clouds stood still in the silence, holding their breath as they billowed. The stars the whir of twinkling, the constellations dancing in their freedom. The movement of the earth misaligned, spinning crooked and swinging into the celestial spring. The newfound breezes pushing ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Oh cosmic calm of bodies in the winter. So the stars move in zigzagging waves above this film which should catapult us to fall in constellation figures. Our arms gracefully arched to hold up the heavens. We shivered with the ethusiasm of a coming spring its warmth in the breez...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I flick on the lamp on the particle board night table between these two beds. Left; full. Right; cold. Under the starchy space blanket linens our chilled feet avoid touch. We squint in the newfound light and yawn, our strange figures so desperately distant. You turn to the windo...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    A rattling on the subway. With the flickering of lights. The stained map of lower Manhattan hung above our lolling heads. We sloshed around in the plastic fluorescence. The door was ajar and whistled beside us. It is 3 a.m. on this wintry Tuesday. Your snowy shoulders slowly thaw....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    There are worse things to hope for than some lingering touch. In sleep, cryptically vague are hazed disillusions of fingertips against glass plates, against the malleable skin of our humanness. A suffering long endured, as we are all akin to the same nature, not trees falling in si...

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