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"for sale: baby shoes, never worn"
a brief remark to miami's flotsam and jetsam. andres talks to the city. animal husbandry for the fairer species. break ups and sweet revenge. elvis costello and the first girl i thought i loved. five hundred miles apart we've lived. i force poetry. instead, kneel. the divorce. the importance of circumstance, date, and time. the nuptial hour. the stench of reconciliation. the threeness of things. the threeness of things (II). the way the world is spent. why they used to preach in latin. you kiss with childish desperation. 2007 2006 2005 home |
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To be a successful artist, one must first be a good salesman, and an expert in bullshit. i have been unconsciously milkwhite for years. Nineteen-Eighty-Nine brought an onslaught of more than just me. It brought the falling of empires, And the falling of walls, And one thousand other things. Ten Fifty-Two a.m. was a second beginning. He was marching in a pro-choice rally on the day of his daughter's birth, And maybe God was crying. i believe in braces and belly-dancing and bleeding ink, i believe in the flowing of ideas, And waking up hungover and unfair. i believe in the experimentation of the young. At the beginning of this year i stopped biting my nails. i had chewed them off repeatedly For nearly seven years before that. Now they are covered In dollar-store black nail polish And Downtown Miami's caked on dirt. Two-Thousand Six brought cigarettes and rain. we were kissing drunk under a Collins Avenue bridge And pretending we were born again, And maybe God was crying. Instead, i haven't made love in much too long. |