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Acknowledgement of Limitation on Unrestricted Interpretation

I undertake not to use this poem for any purpose associated with the promotion of nuclear, chemical, biological, spiritual, sexual or conventional warfare, nor...

Mall of America

In America, even the old are expected to work. No rest for the wicked. How true. Even in retirement, one goes to bed exhausted. There’s no relief....

Exit Ninety-three

On a morning when the sky nearly brushes my hair, I cross the parking lot dodging a cyclist in a red T-shirt. He barely...

Home of the Brave

It is 1955. My mother, 25 years-old with long, swept back chestnut curls, deep dimples and pearly teeth, is wearing an apron over her...

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Grab Bag

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Oogling Myself

Glass Beach Thieves

LISTENING TO FUCKING

POETIC NOISE

The poem I couldn’t write

ANYWHERE BUT HERE

WHAT I AM

Tooth and Nail