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September 26, 2012, 4:01 pm
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Uneasy Rider – Diane Wakoski
September 22, 2012, 3:06 pm
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Falling in love with a mustache
is like saying
you can fall in love with
the way a man polishes his shoes
which,
of course,
is one of the things that turns on
my tuned-up engine

those trim buckled boots

(I feel like an advertisement
for men’s fashions
when I think of your ankles)

Yeats was hung up with a girl’s beautiful face

and I find myself

a bad moralist,

a failing aesthetician,

a sad poet,

wanting to touch your arms and feel the muscles
that make a man’s body have so much substance,
that makes a woman
lean and yearn in that direction
that makes her melt/ she is a rainy day
in your presence
the pool of wax under a burning candle
the foam from a waterfall

You are more beautiful than any Harley-Davidson
She is the rain,
waits in it for you,
finds blood spotting her legs
from the long ride.



I Don’t Miss it- Tracy K. Smith
September 18, 2012, 8:47 am
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But sometimes I forget where I am,
Imagine myself inside that life again.

Recalcitrant mornings. Sun perhaps,
Or more likely colorless light

Filtering its way through shapeless cloud.

And when I begin to believe I haven’t left,
The rest comes back. Our couch. My smoke

Climbing the walls while the hours fall.
Straining against the noise of traffic, music,

Anything alive, to catch your key in the door.
And that scamper of feeling in my chest,

As if the day, the night, wherever it is
I am by then, has been only a whir

Of something other than waiting.

We hear so much about what love feels like.
Right now, today, with the rain outside,

And leaves that want as much as I do to believe
In May, in seasons that come when called,

It’s impossible not to want
To walk into the next room and let you

Run your hands down the sides of my legs,
Knowing perfectly well what they know.



Gracious Living ‘Tara’ – Tom Raworth
September 18, 2012, 8:13 am
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lonely as four cherries on a tree
at night, new moon, wet roads
a moth or a snowflake
whipping past glass

lonely as the red noses of four clowns
thrust up through snow
their shine four whitened panes
drawn from imagined memory

lonely as no other lives
touching to recorded water
all objects stare
their memories aware

lonely as pain
recoiling from itself
imagining the cherries
and roses reaching out


September 13, 2012, 11:17 am
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“Let’s you and I never be cops to each other” -Brandon Brown



Publication!
September 12, 2012, 3:59 pm
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http://www.camrocpressreview.com/search/label/Fallon%20Collins



From Rhapsody in Plain Yellow -Marilyn Chin
September 11, 2012, 3:13 pm
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Admit that you loved your mother,
    that you killed your father to marry your mother.
Suddenly, my terrible childhood made sense.