Sat Jun 12 2010 at 02:37:16 (8.5 years ago )
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4 (Wordsmith) / 1332
mission drive within everything
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Field in North Haven
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"All these years," he said, "I've been opening the window and making love to the world."
3 a.m and perched on a fence off the John Lodge Freeway, alternately kissing and watching firemen battle a cityscape ablaze
and me warm in the window, watching Brooklyn fall asleep under snow
At night, when we walked by the wall, the world seemed to fall down before us - the whole, far-off, dirty world.
Crazier'n a buck with tickwood fever
His smartphone lay in the road, its screen locked with music still playing through the earbuds.
I sold a house with a ghost in it
If only our tongues were made of glass, how much more careful we would be when we speak.
If poetry could describe the way you make me feel, poetry would be illegal. Or anyway I might get arrested.
In the 20th century economics became a philosophy of life
In the city, silence is no longer silence but the memory of a noise
In the long purple evenings when rock n roll from WLAM blurred into night baseball from WCOU
In their millions the frog songs seemed to have a beat and a cadence.
infinity isn't anything until you are among the stars searching for something you lost
she looks smilingly towards the future
That was what her hunger was like: mesmerizing, directed, floating like a public secret just under the cloud cover.
the last time I clobbered a human soul it was over a red-nosed girl and a schoolbook in County Derry
the morning snowdrops fall like dew in the sunlight and fill my heart with their icy cold and all i can think about is you
The streets were washed fresh with rain and a warm wind blew as I showed up to everything just barely on time.
There's something about a church that just gives you the need to giggle
This is what history is: all those centuries of bodies. Bodies as tulips bent to the demands of light, colored into blossom, spent.
This place functions like an electrical outlet installed in 1969
She started to fall, and knew she would never come back
I who put thorns on the briars and gave insects their sting
Vashon Island, Washington
Everything as a literary composition
How to turn any number into a 9
the virtue of the disconnect
The Vandal's Myth
lies the cheesemonger told me
parting is such sweet sorrow
within normal limits
I wanted to do it again
December 12, 2018
The Picture in the House
How I Won the Tacky Christmas Gift Contest
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