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November 8, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
Think of the day you learned by looking & listening: a song & silence All at once, stunned, You know When the very act Of presence or pretending Becomes contractual, Bodies,...
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November 6, 2015 |
in Poetry, Uncategorized |
admininfin8 |
0
Our butterfly is neither madam nor monsieur, but flight is the theme which means anywhere is the domain, anywhere butterfly won’t be maimed or captured by the criminal element among...
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October 25, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
Window’s cracked and we’re here again, delicate as the hurling of spoons, nerves raw down to the nook. Yesterday I laid flat against the sheets as if to say my road is your road....
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September 15, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
Her contraposto posture is pure contraband, a reclamation project of lashes that remember the overseer’s lash. Each holstered fist awaits ascension as she commands an arc of...
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August 27, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
The Summer of ‘77 I learned the Spanish phrase: pelo malo when my aunt announced that I’d never be loved by a white man con ese pelo malo. I loved my hair, the way it frizzed around...
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August 25, 2015 |
in Poetry, Uncategorized |
admininfin8 |
0
(SMARTPHONE VIDEO IMPROVISATIONS—CHICAGO—4/26/15) AT THE ONSET OF SUNSET CITY UNSETTLED CHAIN HOTEL...
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August 19, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
for Michael Burkard Still winter. Snowing, still. Can it even be called action, this patience in the form of gravity overdressed in grey? & how should we respond to this world, with...
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August 4, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
We are ink frozen, dancing in the skinned house weaving through the den of ceramic frogs, the salt and pepper shakers dressed in the mask of hens. Five children cousins with the...
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August 2, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
GYPSIES Crowded among the sailors on Columbus’ third voyage were farmers and crossbowmen, a miner and a priest, and several convicted murderers, including two gypsy women. That...
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August 1, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
…were all wrong. I have always had a disastrous sense of style, and even when I followed Seventeen magazine like a religion, I didn’t know what would work on my slender, awkward...
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July 4, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
Yeah bring our electric shaver back, I bought it we shaved each others back it was important to me and why did you take that case of car batteries I had, your last guy was right you took...
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July 4, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
for Nikki I met a descendant of Zebulon Pike (Pike’s Peak) in Santa Fe. She told me that she thought a blow job was when you went to the beauty salon to get your hair done¬, I...
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July 4, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
for Carry A. Nation (1846-1911) Oh, Carry Nation, she’s the one I love. Her kisses—man, what killers! Ax fits her fingers like a glove To chop down Satan’s pillars. ...
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July 3, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
i good friday heading south in a black car to an evening stations of the cross— piano, violins— on the way two buzzards sharing the bloody carcass of a...
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July 2, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
Cedar mulch rough on hands willow shedding leaves tiny room, thatched roof worn and weathered wooden bowl clay pot cracked and brown walls stained with children’s fingerprints dog’s fur...