Hell has with its persistence bought
all the uncontained rage you wrought
and all the losing battles you fought
to leave you with lessons untaught.

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Aromatic arithmetic
pheromones fill the air
the hunter romeos calculate
move onto the club floor
in search of juliet prey
to be captured by them


-RGA July 25, 2017

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This is an absolutely true story. I swear.

It was a long day at work, and I needed a men’s room break for a few minutes. When I walked in someone was in the first stall. I don’t normally notice these things, but it occurred to me whoever was in there was very quiet and motionless. And he was wearing some very nice shoes.

As I said, it didn’t register with me at the time. It did the next day when I went in and saw that someone was again in the first stall, and I thought it was the same guy. Nice shoes. Silent. Motionless. The whole time I was in there, not a sound or movement. Weird.

But it gets weirder. The third day, he was in there again. At least, I assumed it was the same guy because I swear it was the same pair of nice shoes and, as had become usual, he made not a sound and not a movement.

I started thinking, “Is someone dead in there? Has he been sitting there dead for three days and no one’s noticed?”

I thought about it for a minute and then realized if someone had been dead for three days we would have started smelling it. But there was no smell. Not of a dead body, anyway.

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His favorite pastime was throwing up roadblocks to the people who loved him, forcing them continually to redraw their maps to his heart. And when he was dead, all of them led to foreign countries that were nowhere near his secret home.

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Regret redux

Regret comes in quiet
it goes by slow degrees
it gently takes your heart
and drowns it in the sea.

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Words would only mar
Planets would eclipse the star
Like steam the dream loses shape
Moments after eyes open
The ineffable
Must continue to sleep
Your soul to keep
And trap what you feel
Before the name came
To allow escape
It died when defined
Boxed up and maligned
The smoke laughs
From afar.


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High school

We were a small circle of friends. Sometimes there were three of us, sometimes two. Sometimes and too often it was just me. My sacred text was Star Trek, and in that I was alone. We had our religion, though, and our hymns were Stairway to Heaven and Starship Trooper. We had our black light posters and our incense. We had our Bible studies and told our dirty jokes after. We halfway believed there were demons in our rock albums but that Jesus would save us from them anyway. Anything bad for us we could sleep off. We nodded at the sermons and dipped our toes in nihilism, but we were just posing for effect. We asked all the wrong questions. We never once wondered how quickly those days would pass.


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