Life

When James Wright wrote that he’d wasted his he was talking about ego. Rilke, too, considering Apollo, knew the game was light—what you spread once loss’s heft becomes as natural as a wallet’s. Say I’m foolish. But I’m sure of …

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[22101 – 22200]

Heavy-hearted & auricular, her etymologies spank with gristle the lorgnette sternum of the islander, Carabao. “Ugh,” snorts he, at the uncalled-for jab, his kinetic masculinity undiluted. How pleasingly shaped is this trickster, Melancholia, her acrobatic mammalian periodicity, her mementoes that …

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A proposition

Just for the day, let’s pretend that you don’t know me and I don’t owe you. We’ll happen upon each other like guests at the inn’s central table over lattes. Shy eyes and low hellos and the gently turned down sheet of backstory that is suddenly unfamiliar as the torn out map …

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