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Another of my New York City poems.
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Another NYC poem, inspired by a speech I heard at a personal essay symposium.
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Obviously, another New York poem.
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Another NYC poem.
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Another NYC poem, written on the train home, inspired by the dead turtle in the book Key Grip.
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It was only pranksfor the first few years--forkingyour yard, gluingyour mailbox closed.Little gloriesto alleviate the aggressionthat itched my headlik..
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Sylvia tells me
you are bent-backed like Atlas.
Edward says that only you
have the power to unclose me.
Eireann warns me
that I can..
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How many more laborious
hours must I waste, sweating
with disgust
as thirteen other students moan
and whine,
bitching to the world,
..
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One day,
I looked up from my ego
and saw the words
as they sprang
from your lips.
They waltzed
as your vocal chords hummed merri..
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Can this ever just be?
Can I wrench it from your bloated,
sticky hands,
tear it up,
and sprinkle black-and-white confetti
on the grav..
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