Brooklands
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My stories
We do our own stunts
I invent a back story as you dry your hair: the full-tongue snog that took four takes, your swollen lips and Linda from costume said that we should “try acting.”
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- 1186 reads
Harboil: Part I.
The thing is: the sliver of shadow between the drainpipe and the stone cladding always contains a gent with some news. He waits for you to pull the map out. He overhears you repeating the password.
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- 1239 reads
I used to hate my sister
I remember, I used to imagine the milk you slurped with your bran flakes was not milk, but rather, it was bleach.
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- 947 reads
This Is Crispin
This poem is a univocalism, which means it only uses one vowel throughout. In this case 'i'. This is one of the forms employed by those wacky chaps at Oulipo, ouvrir de literature potentiale.
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- 1872 reads
Cherry
The noises she made: bad counterfeit of Hollywood squealing from films mostly starring Michael Douglas where the women huff like espresso machines
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- 1073 reads