Tag Archives: Literary

Hunter Thompson

Comet named Gonzo, flashed red, white, and red again– flag for a crossing.

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Henry Miller

Stalking new language, the happy scribbler tramped through Heaven’s back-roads.

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Pugilist

Old man, battle-tested, heart, a punch-drunk pugilist– to fall is human.    

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E.E. Cummings

He, evernewnow, crated wavelengths to ship sea— like water for sound.

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Charles Bukowski

Bluebird in his heart, caught in the cross-hairs of vice– fuck pretty, sing life.    

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Pop

Escape from sadness in every breath you take– bouquet of balloons.

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Reboot

Another Red Dawn or Day of the Living Dead? Shit, old scripts die hard.

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Outlet

In his solemn hour, the clown’s last laugh was soundless– loss of an outlet.

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Ernest Hemingway

Review of Mary V. Dearborn’s Ernest Hemingway, appearing in the new issue of Riot Material. “Can I believe myself as others believe me to be? Here is where these lines become a confession in the presence of my unknown and … Continue reading

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Vintage

Brooklyn, 1957, shotgun postcard glory and grain of bygone, brick-backed, bathing-capped great aunts I never knew, Josie and Anna-Mae, sirens modeling sass and moxie on a hot summer’s day before the sun went down.

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