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    All for Writing

    A torture chamber
    this world of puppets
    and executioners,
    I have long forgotten
    every tingle of pain
    in my unformed body.

    They can wrench
    my glued painted nails
    defaced by the rust
  2. Thread: The Mailman

    by miyako73
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    The Mailman

    Right after I finished watching
    that dimly lighted foreign movie, a masterpiece
    shot somewhere on the Italian coast,
    I thought about you, your uniformed muscles,
    and how you cheerfully delivered...
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    Solitary Storyteller

    A recluse alchemist magician
    confined in the cold custody
    of this wheeled chair to weave
    words, alloy rust, and silence,
    I have been warned by death
    masks and their knocking as if
    the...
  4. Thread: Face Mask

    by miyako73
    Replies
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    1,636

    Thanks, Nikolai. I hope you are well too. Yep,...

    Thanks, Nikolai. I hope you are well too. Yep, coming here and starting again is nostalgia on steroids.
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    Changing Shapes of Rain

    Comforted by the rough of the stucco wall, my back
    leaning on the hint of dew as I watch the moon hide
    out of shame, alone now, struggling to finish the day,
    trying to unearth all blues in the...
  6. Thread: Intubation

    by miyako73
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    Intubation

    My jaws unlocked to welcome
    the rigidity of steel, surgical, exposing
    the uvula between the tonsils,
    a soft stalactite to an explorer of caves,
    you have my approval to enter.

    The contortion of...
  7. Thread: Lockdown

    by miyako73
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    Lockdown

    It's a conversation
    between the doorknob and me
    when I stare long
    and its glint in fake gold
    glances back
    as if for a turn
    my hand is too lazy to labor.

    I've now mastered
    the parts of the...
  8. Thread: Face Mask

    by miyako73
    Replies
    2
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    1,636

    Face Mask

    You, I, both strangers now,
    the shifting shapes of our eyes speaking
    of the air you shun, deducing the spit
    to many unknowns, the softest moans
    of fevers, the tastelessness of phlegm,
    the...
  9. Thread: Self-Doubt

    by miyako73
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    Self-Doubt

    On the roadside, I ask the wind
    if I am a poet. A ripe persimmon falls;
    a woman picks it up, blows off
    the dirt; a child smiles. I choke up
    as it murmurs: now write me a tanka.

    ...
  10. Thread: Garbage Love

    by miyako73
    Replies
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    3,336

    Garbage Love

    Before Brokeback Mountain,
    we had been breaking our backbones
    in the hill of trash;
    you dug for iron scraps,
    while I collected
    every shape of plastic;
    you held onto my ribcage,
    and I leaned...
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    Outside the Bar

    Her age a secret,
    but she can whistle
    at passersby
    to ask without
    the weighed words,
    to smile
    the pouted price,
    her lips tinged
    but unable
    to articulate it right,
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    Different Kinds of Afternoon Rain

    A girl, near puberty, by the window
    when the sun wanes at three,
    knows the atmosphere of melancholia,
    the shape of anguish,
    the multiple shades of dejection,
    palpable, wet on her arm.
    ...
  13. Thread: Payment

    by miyako73
    Replies
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    1,616

    Nice one, Dieter.

    Nice one, Dieter.
  14. Thread: The Muse

    by miyako73
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    673

    The Muse

    Clicking her disposable lighter to fire up and burn
    the bulbous bottom of the glass pipe, she thought
    of the men shot in the streets and left on the roads
    and those women wrapped in brown packing...
  15. Thread: Poet's Plea

    by miyako73
    Replies
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    3,707

    Thanks, Dream and YesNo.

    Thanks, Dream and YesNo.
  16. Thread: Poet's Plea

    by miyako73
    Replies
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    3,707

    Poet's Plea

    When you see the sky blue and the calm of the ocean,
    remember the grays in the slum, the black in daylight,
    the falling trees, the decomposing, the gutter drying.

    When you smell a scent of May,...
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    Thank you, Delta.

    Thank you, Delta.
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    Ode To My Booger

    When I watch
    the fat drops of rain
    hit on the cactus leaf
    facing the bare sky
    and bounce to fall
    from the rough edge
    as if a rejection
    of its stubbornness,
    you
    prod my forefinger,
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    Catching Wilbur and His Muse

    I clicked inbox,
    saved what came up,
    Word opened it:
    Wilbur's The Catch—
    a strange poem
    about fishing,
    a woman's dress,
    double meanings.

    On the oak chair,
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    Nightfall in Kyoto

    "Since we're born as humans,
    we should have dreams
    as big as the Pacific Ocean"

    — Sakamoto Ryoma


    Your long sword succeeded. I cried
    without tears for you. You vanished
    the...
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    David Confronting Michelangelo

    Michelangelo is thinking about carving
    a raised mole somewhere, an afterthought.

    My head is just too big,
    yet I can't express my thoughts
    about the eagerness of your hammer
    and the edges of...
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    Moons of Chagall

    Inside the art gallery
    holding an annual charity event,
    I slowly walked
    from frame to frame,
    my eyes to the moons
    painted in different colors.

    My fingers were fidgeting
    on the stringed Akoya...
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    Petrarch's Mistress

    In iambic lines
    you describe me
    from head to toe,
    but your volta
    fails to reveal
    who I really am.

    Where's the dance
    of my fingertips,
    the sensuality
  24. Thread: Heteronyms

    by miyako73
    Replies
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    Heteronyms

    Heteronyms



    "The poet is a pretender
    who's so good at his act;
    he even fakes the pain
    of pain he really feels."

    — Fernando Pessoa
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    In Bed With A Clown

    In Bed With A Clown

    Life is a tragedy when seen in close-up,
    but a comedy in long-shot.

    —Charlie Chaplin



    I picked pinch by pinch
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