May 2011
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My Little Black Boiling Pot
We have to be grudgingly grateful For this internal cacophony. Seething and frothing, Bubbling and coughing, Rattling and churning, Unable to simmer politely, It thuds its large steel foot Down on pale flames, Spitting. Its animosity is not Of any particular direction. Just bloody generous. There are eighteen burns and welts in my ears From each final shout. A smart- Slap! Bang! Oh Hell! I really...
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Her Mother's Day
Red petals for her hair Peeling apples While on her chair She’s singing a song, singing a song And they don’t know the words.
Pink petals piled in her room Clumsy fingers Are holding her broom She’s singing a song, singing a song And they don’t know the words.
White petals pinned onto her breast Rosy eyes A violet vest She’s singing a song, singing her song And...
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56 of the worst metaphors by high school students →
#I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT THIS IS LITERARY GOLD
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I’ve never wished a man dead, but I have read some obituaries with great...
– Mark Twain. The NYT obituary for Osama Bin Laden is seven pages long. (via @pwmorris)
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