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WANDERER

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tea leaves spell out my thursday blues my mother calls it restless mind.  Plastic tulips sit on my nightstand so that at least one thing is timeless  every morning the sun sinks into my chambers invitation...

Obelisks in the Desert

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Melted moon-wax dripping outover the leave-less trees tonightcharming me with such good tastelanguidly stitching together the patchwork The textures weren’t half so brightwhen they ensconced...

Landscape, Mid-Consequence

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The oft-oppressive miracles of the combustion engine beckon from whiny highways of a degradation we must call fair An asymmetrical face appears in the exhaust drift between the taillight and...

Bare Arms

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How’s everything at school? Good...why? Another mother passed along a whisper: there’s this boy, he might have a gun. Should I tell you, or leave you in...

Poetry by Dash Codiga

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Renga: The first snowflake falls Bushes wear cozy white hats Winter has arrived. Remember Autumn’s warm breeze, I’d love to go back there, please. Haiku: Black wind breaks the sky; Fiery breath...

Recovering

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Recovering Irecover likestrength sappedfrom maple treesawaiting syruplike a broken stirrupon a runawaysteed its rider upsidedown being draggedoff intoa distance unasked forunknown or a ghostunwilling to admitthat deathhas brought the end ofbreath the sounds ofa...

Snippet of a Man Talking About His New Television Set

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So I was walking around the store, just out grabbing a few things for the house and I just happened to wander into the...

An Ode to the Sounds of Blackness

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When Ray Charles asked, “Come live with me and won’t you be my love?” Gladys said she’s leaving to be with him On a midnight train...

Things change

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Things change, always. You wrote this in my yearbook. I stumbled upon it last week. In the heart of the fire is a cheap...

Out of time

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He most definitely knew what hit him. His family and friends would seek solace in the standard untruth that “at least he didn’t feel...

On my Mom’s dying

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She saw my first breath. I saw her last. And, in between,      many days of      smiles, shouts,      puddles, clouds      thoughts deluded, denuded,      eluded...

Excerpt from Postscript #29

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There have been more baby ghosts lately with few fit for heaven. The air in the room is toxic. The government feels threatened thinks...