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  • Nonfiction > All Nonfiction
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    There’s a balloon in my stomach. Every time the door creaks open, the balloon expands then deflates as I see that the person entering is not who I’m waiting for. I am anticipating the arrival of my date, and frankly, I am starting to get a little antsy. It’s 12:15. We planned to meet at noon. ...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    You wake up at noon to a licorice nose prodding at your face. It’s Charley, your disheveled Wheaten Terrier. He needs a walk and he needs it now. His pleading, squeaking moans turn to deep rumbling parks as his brown eyes say I DEMAND YOU WALK ME THIS INSTANT. Alright dude, calm down! I’ll...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    Alexander, what would you do if you were in my place? Would you slash your cutthroat britva through a drunken stranger’s face? Would you chuckle as the endless stream of blood poured down the street? And grin each morning when you saw its stain on the concrete? Would you drink your m...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I cried when I first saw the dinosaur’s bones that threatened to puncture the sky. I could not help feeling so small and alone ‘neath the skeletal tower so high. For it didn’t matter how long he’d been dead, Or that children just weren’t his taste ‘Cause his neck stretched foreve...
  • Poetry > Ballad
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    Please forgive me, Wendy I can’t stop myself from staring at the parts of you exposed by that red swimsuit you are wearing. At how your Jolly rancher lips so pink, and wet, and sweet surround your silver whistle moments just before the tweet! At the sweat that forms like honey on that amb...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    On the night that Mr. Lincoln took a carriage to the show, he felt like something wasn’t right, but what? He did not know. On his shoulder, Mary rested closed her eyes, for just a while. They did not know about the man who sat across the aisle. The night that Mr. Booth did shoot the 14t...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    The apothecary sits at her desk, painting pieces of pinecones gold. She is rolling play dough into spheres and sorting them into segregated heaps on the table. To her, the scales are not from pinecones, but have been shed off the back of an elderly dragon. And the spheres of salty silver are not ...

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