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National Poetry Month Challenge
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1 of 30. I.on a sunny dayaccounts of demonsof the clothwith their sweet tooth for meek youthspoil what would have beenan appetiteII.class in the quadmeans sunglassesare acceptable classroom attireand that todayGod remembered to tickle my scalp and my earlobeswith an 80-degree 'hi'III.the irony of minimum wage slaveryis not lost on mebut privileged indignance does notriddle debtors ordirect-reports the wayit does easily discardedgrinding gears and bolts.
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2 of 30. For Yukimi. (AprilFool'sDay/nightsoulgasm)With the swing of a mallotand a tambourine clapfeet have no recoursebut to move or tapas the crowd sways in wavesclosing the gapsflies the ever floatingfeather over the tracksanchored in a sea of hipstersour lips mouth lyrics like scripturesor rosarythough I'm notparticularly religiousutterancesescape me ::breathless and throbbingthe depth ofher tremorsand topicslight intrigues opticprofessions of affections,fictitiousmyopiccoincidence and rocketswrenches and socketswitches and prophetsbellowing ambrosiashe stops witha humbleafter-sex-cigarette numbnessand sumptuous scores for lock-insor night caps vending trendy vices...she writes non-washable rain checks...though I'm sure she'll forget...make sure my memory flash bulbsetches of stereophonic love cuzwith the swing of a malletand a tambourine clapfeet got no choice but to move or tapas the crowd sways in wavesclosing the gapsflies the ever floatingfeather over the tracks
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3 of 30. Slip from their brittle limbsand if some fingers break in the struggle,know the arid crumbs of thumbsweren't meant to keep youfrom a lover's tongueor the devil's rumwhen your feet run youtowards whatever fun or freedom their hymnscondemnhum to your ownmetronomeand know their sirenssound false alarmsin cacophonous tonestheir hammers will bludgeonwhere your timbres constructbut the turn of luck will comewhen truth stops being rationed,fashioned with toothpicks and muffin cups.
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4 of 30. Reflections on my first Easter Dress.My girlfriend's parentsstill wish I had a moustache,but I felt pretty.
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5 of 30. Closing :: The FallYour freckles pulled the soft light from the ceilings lazy buzzingas water invisibly sped through pipessame as my thrashing pulse.I hung from your lipsclung to syllables for somber hope,no flag in handno summit in sightonly claustrophobicstompingon my fingers one by one...Month after monthwith every private smileand public peckmy patience was not tattered,rather it girded heart's purpose withtightly-knittedmesh-armorthat no suitorsdared duel.True,we relished in thoughts ofsexy temporaryism butfell short of executionin tactile transactions because I preferreddaily snooze-button beatingsjust so I could keep on dreamingthat every crossed mile bartered wellfor kisses you didn't owe me.Emphasis ::You didn't owe me.Passion, penance or plummet.
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6 of 30. I wasn't raised to give the middle finger but...To mind the mindlessis too masturbatoryon the other hand.
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7 of 30. Recoil.Jump the guncuz sometimesthe pistol needswhippin instead ofholdinyou'd think with all the heads rollinthat ore-fabled silencewould've molded more than a binary oflicentious whoreversussacrosanct hymenbut you'd be dead wrongin the songsin the rhyminfanfare of violencedoodled and sketchedas catchy lineswe swallow wholeby the barrelwe're only seen as crabsclimbinor scabshealing just in time for moredouble-binding offenses...and they say the trenchesare no place for our kindbut if we pummel cannonsinto plowsharesperhaps the tunnelswould not be so preoccupiedwith balls.
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8 of 30. I heard the Rain Man speaks in numbers. Sun Woman surely speaks letters.
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9 of 30. AutopsySqueamish audienceeyes limpid anatomyof a bawdy fact.
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10 of 30. Snake.EyesTrades faces, sheds skinpartitioning soul as if God was fractional.
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11 of 30. Yeah, I Said It.Minutes afterbrow met platform,jaws collided,and tooth fragmentswere spat between tracks, and dad askedwhy, or accused,I dont recall which, but this Iremember, whenstumbling inyellow cab downChicago Ave,Cascading blood From my foreheadSunglasses hidNot much at allBut when pullingUp to my place,Plum purple faceDid not stir manBehind bullet-Proof barrier,Who ignored mypetition for door-step drop off,but then stared backthrough aloof orbssaid Do you have a smaller bill? in a flash oflucid wrath Iasked, Do you havea smaller
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12 of 30. Crisis Management.How nice of you toacknowledge me if only to apologize.
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