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just another poem about a boy...
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This is a story about a kid who is very inspired by Tom Waits.
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Looking around
the room with his eyes glazed from well drinks, he rested his elbows on the
bar, spread widely, and gripped a cheap whiskey sour in h..
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The first thing the morgue boys
had to do when they found out Ms. Henry died was clear a path through the house
for a stretcher to take away her bo..
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Anne Cromwell’s hands are bony and thin. Her translucent,
withered skin hangs loosely over her long fingers. Her wedding ring is too big
these..
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She grips a roll of masking tape, her knuckles the same beige-white as the tape. With her left hand, she picks at the torn edge until she has a piece..
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This is an email sonnet I sent my poetry professor to get out of the dog house. It worked.
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This is a little sonnet about monogamous animals.
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We wander and weave
through a labyrinth
of trees, treading stone
and dirt footpaths
with fingers entangled,
like the roots
of th..
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The two sat on the black tarred roof,
feet dangling from the edge, eyes hanging
on the sky. Chemicals on their tongues,
colorful paper co..
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