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By Emily Long It’s a typical Wednesday night by which i mean
i’m curled up half-naked like the embryo i wish i never became. Confetti crumpled tissues & disco ball shimmer cheeks are the only guests at my party tonight as i imagine what it would be like to irish-goodbye from my life. My brain is a hostage & Sad Girl is in the cockpit--
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(After ‘Little Girl,’ a bronze sculpture by Lynn Chadwick), The Butler Institute of American Art The little girl sitting primly and quietly
Has heard many times Patience is a virtue She waits for Beauty and womanhood Attention and perfection The ceremonial rites that are her due and Will carry her forward The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Peter Mladinic Months before the sudden death that sent
him, or rather transformed him, all he was, into ashes scattered in his sister’s garden, where his mother’s ashes are, he told me of the eye operation on both eyes that let him know finally how great it was to see The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Anna Cates Ignatius Yeats had just settled down for afternoon tea when a knock sounded at the door. He jumped as if a ghost had spooked him. That someone would occasion upon him was frightening. Nobody ever visited him. Nobody liked him. He lived alone in a three-story house atop the hill, dotted with baaing lambs and overlooking the village and sea. Rumors, not completely true, held that he was rich yet ungenerous. Not caring for the greedy masses, he kept to himself, except for weekly visits to the library and market. People he could do without, but not poetry and lamb butter fried pork kidneys. Still, for all his solitude, he sometimes feared he’d lose his mind.
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By Nate Poko Tulay You may have forgotten, forgotten about
the paradise, the paradise far far away, and of the goddess who died, who died The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Martha McCollough sun a frilled lizard a burning glass warming bees into hum moon lost tooth
key from a toy piano ivory sweetsour plink The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Julian Grant Once, there was a bitter little prince named Otto. He really should have been quite happy - what with having been born to wealth and privilege, but he recently learned of his older brother's heroic death fighting off invaders to the their homeland and this had created a huge uproar. The once future king was now gone and sad Otto was next in line to inherit the mantle of the throne.
Of course, normally, one would understand fully Otto being saddened or outright distraught over the loss of his beloved brother or perhaps even a little glad in his most secret heart that he was now heir apparent. But Otto was neither. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Martha McCollough light doesn’t tire
fall in a weary arc rattle like lost keys on the floor of space The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
routine developed consistency confirmed clean dishes bed made clothes hung bills paid cat fed table wiped carpet cleaned guitar restrung children taught numbers divided work
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By Andrea Janov Guys, boys, are a commodity.
Dating the trade, New York City the floor. Everyone is on the market and there is a variety around to sample, as I am looking for investment options. Every person marketable in their own way. Embracing arbitrage to get the most bang for their buck. |