Stories

Poetry

He loves me. That’s half enough: he’s the only man around.

Poetry

I lie down and see you one bed over; therefore God exists.

Poetry

If every present is possible, how can we have eyes to see?

Poem of the Week

If I bring the wrong pen the words look like snow piles on an empty page.

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Poetry

I let you pull my hair, throw me to the rocks, disarrange me.

Poem of the Week

Absence rarely makes the heart grow fonder, or so my mother said.

Poem of the Week

Lunatics call it annihilation . . . Think of it as not doing a thing

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Poem of the Week

Suddenly two would dart and clasp one another belly to belly.

Poetry

I’ve taken the pledge and made donations of blood to the world.

Poetry

You know what you’ve come looking for you probably won’t find.

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Poetry

My daddy used to yodel. That’s not all. He'd wear plaid shorts & guinea Ts.

Poetry

My brush an M-16, thirty-round clips for tubes of paint, all of them red.

Poetry

I want you enough to gnash you into a silence made from pieces of silver.

Poetry

There’s nowhere he can kiss where she hasn’t been kissed by the sun.

Poetry

Let’s rummage through each other’s bodies like a blowout sale.

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Poetry

Regarding the affairs of our Father, your demon is Ennui.

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Poetry

Robert Hedin

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Poetry

A child no bigger than small change calls from her window j’ai faim.

Poetry

What excuse did I use to pick a fight with that arrogant poet?

Poetry

Imagine octopus, and keep the talk going through the chew.

Poetry

Michael McGriff

Poetry

Even the busiest of businessmen are out for the count, paying the price.

Poetry

This is the stupid math of loving another human being.

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Poetry

They plant whispers where shouts incinerate into hisses.

Poetry

Marianne Boruch

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Poetry

Years ago I wanted parallel lives, to see how it turns out for all of me.

Poetry

Tell her I put poison in the pot and I intend to watch her drink it.

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Poetry

Two bikers, the bartender, me, and a skinny girl in skintight blue jeans.

Poetry

Through the dark, we say, through the dark: but do we ever really know?

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Poetry

My baby was calling to me. But I was welded to the mountain.