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Contract

Through the walls The faint music of Cobain’s squalid sound The squared stillness of the freshly abandoned   An ageless house will shockingly crumble An innumerate love is made of sand Teachers teach us, please, Love’s history, not Napoleon’s We are most of us lovers not generals   Her strong resolve Her lonely lust Lousily beaten down like: An underachieving …

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Ode to A. G.

A hirsute young man with a transparent comb-over looks at me from inside the screen and says he cannot stand his own mind. His feral eyes drip of Benzedrine and his ethereal poem weaves calculated chaos into my room. He mourns our tearful libraries and is determined to buy with his good looks everything he needs. I wet my pants …

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Fireblood

Fireblood and whaleblubber Fleshbones and acidrain (purple, dotted turquoise pupils, wretched angling hand-grabs) toxic warmth and there I am – hovering inside the ozone golden-toothed and cataclysmic There you are – naped neck, rabid skin, clay-mold clavicle and matching tendons Racing – the only thing we breathe towards Raving – hands wild and unkempt; juice-rattled and jangled we keep heaving …

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Red-letter

Swaddle me in that barn red percale sheet then bust in sweet harvester. Climb up them rocks, plow forward, pull rank on me we’ll have a junket, walk in place, prick them balloons.   Poem By Patricia De Oliveira

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Tip-off

Winds whoosh by the outhouse It’s a tiff, they say, between steadies The girl’s all knotted up; beau’s stiff by the meat cleaver, captious. In the overture, they made love like mereswines, thoughtlessly, at a bargain. She went into debt for him, a skin parcel too much.   Poem By Patricia De Oliveira

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X

That westerly mind came in handy at the storm shelter. They shot her daggers. And her off-the-cuff response was to fix the place with their decoupage skulls.   Poem By Patricia De Oliveira

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Bitchplay

a piece of bone the tapping of my fingers –keyboard, desk, head, chest peel back a fingernail to see all of O’Neill’s words crunching each fillet, tattoo-happy for Beckett, Shepard –the lot the coffee pot boils over, my cigarette stained eye, a fang, a lisp Capote turned vampire overnight –a coin toss made it happen “eat paper if you’re hungry” …

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The Ring

The band itself you sold to a goldsmith- a snake charmer of precious metals. The powerful magma, she would spill like slow blood under a torch. It is said that gold shrieks like a lobster when cooked. Perhaps the most difficult thing is losing the power of its shape a perfect circle, bragging about eternity.   A ring for the …

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POSSIBLY THIS IS AN ANCIENT WOUND

When I run I have wonderful ideas for instance When I see the sociopathic pregnant lady, to exclaim, “how responsible!” LA is such a funny candy city & where is everyone going anyhow five violet skyscrapers peek tentative between dark hills, unconvincingly Crushed velvet strapless sky dress, arrogant skyline neckline like daddy’s oscR baby Shaky palm fingers, a curtain fringe …

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Not like I killed Jesus Christ, she says, says her megrims all him, rain gutter eyes, bald patches, tartar buildup, exclu- sionary jargon, uneducable brain. He a hegemon, he a ghettoizer, he a blind drunk, she a pill mill, she a storied corpse. Poem by Patricia De Oliveira