littledebbieoatmealcookie

To the science he explodes! … version 3 – this time with a foolish picture in the middle

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the extremities
of

cold fusion
are
never

far removed

from the man crazy traveling
the path, vanderbilt gallop
    fields in hills

to the science he explodes
the intricities
    of varied characteristics
    of variables in contexts
and drinks mellow while waiting for a return



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

December 14, 2011 at 3:02 pm

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answar sadat

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the murder of answar sadat
was glorious.
they pelted him with urinated
artillified
mechanisms

over in the grandstand the lady
in waiting hoo-rah’d the guys
that covered their faces until the
firing was over with

this is the lesson of the ancient silk road

the ushers paced the goers slowly out
the arena, waving swords at the
women afterwards. Unlike coliseums
the arena doesn’t exist



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

December 2, 2011 at 10:30 am

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toast boat 18 … 2nd edit – re-arranged the line breaks

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forcing hands to walk forward
freshing stands for the crowd tomorrow
telling oars to paddle more
hot tulips engage the guests

june dates evade the crests of
crashing cycles that speed to death

dashing sand upon them hell
stiffening peers gaze beyond
freezed in a river gone gone remote
vested in a faith, the art the leather
pacing doubts of doubters lows
holding pen posing shows



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November 29, 2011 at 11:55 pm

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old story

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wrench taut bolt last one
tight on the iron beam coliseum
communities grow up around such a place

but it was in the 40′s that a really
nice thing happened … it was the
old crowd with their great man
purses and classic cubans, powder
rooms for the ladies, grapes for
champions

the old crowd, they were special,.. They made
it happen night after night
        The Coliseum wow
man what a sight



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November 29, 2011 at 11:33 pm

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porcipine

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the nuclear weapon



            that

        landed

        in the town
        just now



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

November 16, 2011 at 9:55 pm

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monstruous abusive thunder

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the rat a tat tat scored like
a monstruous abusive thunder unexpectedly
from our hallway dark and closed off
for the time as
steelers vs bengals,
    my wife naps
    and there is an infant making
sleepy gurgling noises in a new bedroom crib

to the hallway door I go
to conceive the
gunfire: bandits exploring our territory
wearing masks of man stockings with
eyes nose and mouth cut out

I fought the bandits using the keys
from my pocket



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

November 16, 2011 at 9:30 pm

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my body

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I wish I had died in a battle
and my body dumped anonymously in a pit
rolling over others who were thrown before me

it would be a soothing and fitting end
there would be no more life to pay



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November 16, 2011 at 9:23 pm

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stupid struggler

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sharia law tells us about Brutus’
third wife and God’s harum, but it is
tuff to find it. But look at the
passage about the canary that
relentlessly tries to sing but is actually
out of air:


    Canary, shut your singing
    shut your fuckin singing
    you stupid canary
    you don’t even have no air
    shut your singing
    your air is gone you stupid fucking canary
    shut your singing
    you don’t have no air
    you stupid canary



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November 12, 2011 at 12:56 pm

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chickens to the left, cows and pigs to the right

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during the years the communist
regimes got run over, golden autumn
leaves fell glistening like moonbeams upon
ponds reflecting and filled by swine
and cow excrements
    - the communists didn’t let
      their chickens use the same ponds

the ponds were monitored, practices were in place
    - chicken
      excrements were used differently

long gone the golden years…
the blues to be crafted, sung by
folk people commentating the
confusing revision of their traditional songs



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November 12, 2011 at 12:47 pm

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the unequivocal baby

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the newborn baby stood to the
doorway, surprising me while I
washed up the kitchen and not expecting
a newborn baby to stand on its own

but I tried to explain to the little thing
that the best way to solve the disputes
between rival green hue’d teams
was through rigorous violence

the child stood continuously at the
doorway, grabbling at my garb and
holding me to the kitchen space,
blocking me and refusing me



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

November 12, 2011 at 12:33 pm

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panhandler

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pan. down into the mud and the
police officer walked
        up to the crouched looser,
        looking
    down
        at him (because the hobo was
crouching and he, the cop, was standing) with
his shades remaining behind, in the car, probably sitting on the dashboard. You see this is the officer’s first day on the route alone and forgetfulness has got a claw in him, but who cares about his anxiety because one day he’ll be a veteran and between now and then he’ll get his composure UNLESS he is not the kind of person to get his composure in which case he just wont ever get around to seeming cool
like a cop
with his nose right, and posture too.



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November 10, 2011 at 12:14 pm

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yellow bottles

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three yellow plastic bottles were sitting next to each other. One of them said to the other, “eat and leave.”

‘This was strange,’ thought some people standing on the sidewalk nearby.



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

November 10, 2011 at 11:32 am

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newspaper section E

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“yes?” and he looked
up
    annoyed,
    sittin at the same table as
    he was
two hours ago, three and a half

by now even he had read the E section
of the paper black and white newsprint, maybe
Boston’s or some other city that
prints double leafed everyday

he neither let loose the paper nor
did he back his chair to leave but solid
remained and will continue

table attendant strained,
this patron stubborn, and finally
explained that he needed something to find
that he could believe in and that, ahh, it was
just one table



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November 10, 2011 at 11:24 am

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joseph maria – O the pity

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night crickets lye bored in the
grass by the walkway into the building

I strutted strong up the avenue
with the heavy bars of the pure gold
in my pockets

up the sidewalk

the steps

through the front door

to the room where the men met

and displayed my gold
and unimpressed they said
thanks for your time



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November 9, 2011 at 1:47 pm

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no time for paintin

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holiday lake boat sailing
for five days kids first trip
small wake gently splashing side
- kids: don’t get too close though ok

dad plan: loves his old boat: new
paint be great
will be awesome games checkers
cards singing going to bed when
the sun goes down

HHHere it comes dark chapter
clouds stop sunshine wind carries
wake higher heavier slapping slamming
boat rocks-bobs father concerns

forget painting bad timing scoop!
painting the boat and tasks for slow times
    no be they strand him for certainty

but scoop water
    scoop water
        children too



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November 4, 2011 at 10:58 pm

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me and mark

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me and mark were hanging out
    ( mark’s a pretty cool dude )
so what mark did was he
took a baseball bat and hit my
head as hard as he could

I’ve spent a fair amount of
time in pain since then, but
I’ve got a good friend in mark



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November 4, 2011 at 10:14 pm

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harper & tweed!

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the jail bars stimulated
the hoard, engrinding
justicication on their
behalf into their
day dialogs, years to be long

harper and tweed!
in the bars is not the
healing, a sentence but yes, yes

at the lake in Tenn. in
a boat fishing is a man guilty
at the church in Rome in
a confessional is a man bettering himself



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November 4, 2011 at 10:08 pm

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it’s more than a stump

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the servants
could not do much
but encircle the tree with chain
and cut it for lumber

now grow well fresh stump
100 years there you will rely
on us to not dig you out
with shovels



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November 4, 2011 at 10:02 pm

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well spoken fronter

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condensed of powdered pug
horizons awoke from sour song,
tapping opposing feet and rolla
twirling til the believers swooned



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November 4, 2011 at 9:57 pm

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bye magpies

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trembling small stones rattled
to let me know the illusion
was on

the worst day in
the world’s many sads
spelled itself in letters
of logs on the ground

chainsaw’s rrr rrr rrr transferred
through the old lady’s yard down to
the hard stone our town sat on and
told us to that last tree’s fell

that last tree’s fell. Do the crows
and magpies know us still. Smell her
pine in winter stove.



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October 24, 2011 at 6:17 pm

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sways me

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decipherin a strategy here
a strategy associated with the
    process of child rearing

contemplating telling the boy what
I know

but knowing that there’s little
helpful in my truths sways
me to get drunk and die



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October 24, 2011 at 6:16 pm

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tv antenna

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tv antenna



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

October 7, 2011 at 1:35 pm

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tables

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furthermore
    the frantic people live on rice
        walking fast
    eatin ducks
killin hoards of loaves
of tadpoles and clothes
on lines of dryers in heat
in waves, obedient, dosed
    closed

but
    the farmer raises pigs
        drinks beer
    plows
has a table
and guests



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September 17, 2011 at 10:40 pm

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USE YOUR KNIFE IN THREATENING TIMES!

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-> I lived there
    .and I
    lived there too bu
            t
on the other side

I been around the block    yeah

    yeah”


the solicitor roared into the room
    ”LIAR,” and without a breath “LIAR”


thank goodness I had my knife
I used it to slice up the curtains
I have no idea why
but I knew my knife was for slicing during
threatening times



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September 14, 2011 at 7:05 pm

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hearing the ringing of bells

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the old man




was brutally cruel to the robot



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September 11, 2011 at 9:59 pm

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florida has toilets

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florida has toilets and
europe has toilets – you’d think
they’d be about the same:
    -design-wise
    -functionality-wise

the sweet spot oN european toilets
is more difficult to find, but produces
a much nicer tone

it’s funny that europe and florida
have different toilets, them being
just toilets and so on

a sweet spot is a place in the
toilet to where a gentleman urinates, such
that splashback and sound are minimized
like swimmer smooth diver



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September 11, 2011 at 9:59 pm

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The Parties Blast Each Other God Damnit

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for 4 weeks me and the Lucy’s
had a contentious relationship

arguing over the minor critical details
of job growth vs flower growth

my emotions were like sacred ground
of which tomahawk throwing Indians screamed

but the Lucy’s, violent with their
limited foresight, swore swore swore

the rain storm came just when
we needed, cause the throwdown was on



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September 10, 2011 at 7:28 am

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breakthrough poetry regarding bumble bees

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man



    bumble


   bees got it made, being all
   big and buzzin and everything

just flyin around and hoverin
Stinging things they don’t like
hanging out inside flowers all day long



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September 1, 2011 at 10:44 pm

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blood thirsty breakdown

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the bird was ignorant
    it had only learned things from
        its mother and from
        other birds
all of whom were ignorant, only having
    learned from one another … and
    their mothers

so the expectations are setup -
    I: think the bird is too ignorant
    the bird: is too ignorant to have
                    expectations.

every time the earth spins
the
bird and I dispute the time of day



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September 1, 2011 at 10:44 pm

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soap is not a contribution

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contributions to the world come in a
variety
    of variations
    … such as

the stout variation

which is a contribution comprised of heftily
weighted
    … compositions

each composition is well known for
compatibility with volt intensive arc-age,
    not to be confused with the capacity to
    inhibit much ideology and pressure
      … that is an unrelated contribution variation



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August 8, 2011 at 3:31 pm

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finally, hand reading explained

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the other day my
grandmother said to me:
‘boy
I known you since
you got born from
the legs of my daughter
    ( that seemed too graphic, grandma )
but I don’t know who you
really are’



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August 1, 2011 at 7:57 am

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let the countries fight

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“du fruit in la treat?
ahh cafe du monde mademoiselle”

a bunch of french people, sitting at their table,
looked over with berets in their eyes
unwilling to stand for the Texan’s mockery of
their language, their culture, philosophy and other junk
that makes a people a people

the Texan killed the french people and took over
the south western portion of the country that
had, until just now, belonged only to whoever lived there



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July 28, 2011 at 12:51 pm

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other days occur

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in the green pasture below the
wet clouds stands the small bugs
catching the gray drops while
the dirty news captures violent
crimes, images they capture with
their new equipment

but it’s not always rainy in the
green pasture. other days occur
sun-soaked for the prosperity of wild
flowers



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July 28, 2011 at 11:27 am

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dropping polaroids onto the town

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dropping polaroids ( they
been kept in a old box ) from
the balcony ( this home is in
fact a penthouse way up high )
really angered the tailor ( why? )

every time the images roll over
and over in the daylight city:
the sun grabs ‘em, sparkles ‘em,
melts ‘em drip schlooping on
the grand tapestry hung today for
the arrival.



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July 25, 2011 at 1:21 pm

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the breaking of man

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the quasi note displayed
on front of the chamber

was being promoted,
    spelled really,
by people only apt at working the
dead stiffs, and others only
ready for the tambourine

empty though I be, I stood
from my rowth balcony seat. Remembering
my past    I realized that
not who cares if the note be quasi
and if they who present it be not ok
to present even quasi things, and
quietly I just sat back down



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July 19, 2011 at 7:10 pm

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Johnny heads to the tracks

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Johnny, you should know, was 18. Back
then he wasn’t called JD, but Joe D. He
got that nickname by the cops that
interrogated him: “you want to see what we got? … ‘
Hit the play button’ … you didn’t think you’s
being watched did ya there Mr JD?”

He had been sauntering up to the tracks
ever so coy-like. That’s what got the video watchin
seargent to notice back then: the coy-ness. The
cops hit the chase and used
lights to get him up from his lying down
peaceful spot, and when the cops found his
cargo van in the empty lot nearby, they wasn’t
gonna go lightly on him.



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July 9, 2011 at 4:37 pm

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cornmeal

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give the dog somethin, mister
the dogs are accredited with walking
off the chickens that ate your corn
meal in the woods yonder

and even so, mister, I suggest
that you have a talk with your
accountant about
storing your cornmeal in the woods

did I tell you that I
knew an Indian lawyer who’s
been accredited with
howlin’ at the moon



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July 6, 2011 at 12:58 pm

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you walked in through the woods

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you walked in through the woods
each of your steps crunched leaves
each of your steps crunched wildberries
some of your ideas crunched
balance among us. To ol’ wood you
think you be in sport with,
conversating.

you walked in through the woods. Among us we
say, “here comes a diplomat, like a saint
with smelly hands. See the skins of
berries in the cleats of his shoes.”



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July 3, 2011 at 9:43 pm

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young man your shoulders ought be up

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quartz from the factory
    ( swept up in a blanket by
      an old lady, maybe 120 years
      old and working here since
      tuberculosis was inoculated during
      post war modernity )
weighted the boy’s faith, hooking
the glare of his eye by a rural barb
and mashing his arches



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July 1, 2011 at 6:24 pm

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barn with it the dances

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I read aloud the crying
lives of so many women who
left their stardom in
a barn, today it roaring in fire for
it be so old

and the field can be plowed now larger and greater for
wheat or banana hops



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July 1, 2011 at 6:24 pm

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letter to Rosetta

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letter to Rosetta

Rosetta, baby, I got hold of documents and files saying that you’ve been going out with the guy who likes to sell can openers when he can. Well, baby, let me say… I was there when he got the can opener job.

Rosetta, baby, if it weren’t for you knowing me you wouldn’t've met him, and iiiii made him!

Rosetta, baby, let me tell you what he said that fateful day last Spring; he said:

“Excuse me Mr. sir,
I got so’um for you
news you might want to know;

that man that came into your office
yearlier this year, I have had it
that I have seen him
eatin’ poor man’s steak
in a
coat and tie
just damn like a your’ns;

and so Mr. sir,
that what I’ve come here to tell you,
that you’ve not a sensible reason to
concern of him
because he is of no caliber
and because he is of no concern.

I saw him eatin’ poor man’s steak
you’ve no things you should worry
about.”

And Rosetta, baby, that’s when I came into this meeting with the bossman chopping off your present day can opening lover’s freaking head practically because the bossman was insulted about a comment made about his suit.

I, baby, came into this meeting saying, “bossman, listen, he wasn’t insulting your suit.”

I had to say it, baby, because the bossman was a big man. He was a red haired asshole that loved his job and got argumentative about insults against his suits.

That, I understand, Rosetta, kitty, and now I figure you wont let it pass you again – the understandin’ of what and why I said that if it weren’t for you knowing me you wouldn’t have met the can opening man I saved from the bossman’s chop. And I made him. Reply soon.

sincerely,
“lovin’ you till the day I die, baby”

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return letter from Rosetta

John, how are you doing?

I got your letter. It felt good to hear from you but the letter has left me confused. Besides, we haven’t dated for years and that red headed bossman … he’s the one who snatches my love and mowers my absolutes daily.

love ya,
Rosetta

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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

May 28, 2011 at 11:55 am

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the fateful decision

with one comment

one fine spring holocaust morning
a great wooden table did
bring together the planners, the
men whose reputations claim
them as engineers, the few warriors
of the real town

Did choose yes, these men, the breadth of
garage doors for everyone, narrow
as to not exceed the most
wide of minimum size, as utility
promises to satisfy the right



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

May 26, 2011 at 10:52 pm

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our leaves were there

with 2 comments

my soil breached the earth
humba ra
no, my shovel dug into the dirt
humba ra
our leaves were there, those
from last year, all turned over
and wet and breaking like
the sands of time
humba what … the sands of time
humba no: like
hallowed ground
no NO no: like a pain to a
mother’s birthing and a calf to go
up for the first time
humba yeah
yeah yeah



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

May 15, 2011 at 8:06 pm

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it doesn’t action

with one comment

see here, I don’t even recall
the war
though it goes on every day, probably
the way
arthritis does for worn   out ladies.
The war – it – doesn’t action, you see.

more like it sits, maybe, I don’t know,
like a spikey nail at our dinner
                                        table
who in your family holds the seat
of the end table -
   and orange
juice spills from some fractured
decanter into our plates, our spread



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

May 14, 2011 at 8:21 am

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belovedness.crew.

with one comment

TAKE I for the haul mule
don’t work the haul
mule so as it
strains     to put on
digging feet and crutches
along side the tractor, aching
by its work of dirt plowing

TAKE II for the haul mule
- yesterday: wet dragging lump
- today      : glorified dignified lump



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

May 14, 2011 at 8:21 am

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the pidgeon tells stories

with 2 comments

so I was talkin to a pidgeon and he said Hey and I said yeah? and he said Hey Hey and I said yeah? and he said Hey Hey and I said yeah? and he said Hey and I said yeah?

Not much of a conversation, I know, but it was a pidgeon, whahw whohww



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

May 11, 2011 at 12:55 pm

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hear good voices

with one comment

after the contestants rode through and
carrying their various ribbons and water
bottles, the sunny spring wet that covered
the tulips lifted, songs in cars nice on
radios, stations being usually fm except for
cars with old men. Moms cooked breakfast for
their boys and then maybe around 11 there
was that day’s first phone ring, it
probably started something like this:
“(hear their voices)”. Some boys still
rode schwinns all the way till crickets
& frogs hoped around and houses were full
of people adjusting rabbit ear antennas and
gettin ready for bed



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

May 9, 2011 at 12:51 pm

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sons of daddies

with 3 comments

seven weeks past the external sun quo nox

croatian rappers, young, fresh and gettin
money from their daddies, shaving

their heads at the mall,

sped their convertibles down the thug way
without
any
problems



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

May 9, 2011 at 12:29 pm

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desperate hungry families

with 2 comments

a hladilnik is a
refrigerator in the english proper british smug word.

German: Kühltruhe
Italian: frigorifero
which is spanish for la nevera!

Language translations aside


that for those who
are full are un whelmed by
desperate hungry families so
unfamiliar with eemaxiquedd tastes of
meats and
chocolates, beers
and sauces for gravies,
sprinkles for salads and
garnishes for
turkeys, pitchers of juices
and leftovers with cheese

the key word was are



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

May 6, 2011 at 10:36 am

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KABOOM

with one comment

( this poem has some bad language )



“stEWdabaker niiiice man
let’s take a free ride on the
            love train”
KABOOM broke his god damned face
ain’t no damn love train
    this mother fucker is the full
    throttle rock n roller. …love train?!
but that is how some friendships begin.
one time I was in a coffee shop and
I overheard these two people talking

one of them said, “remember when we
first met, you were buying beer
behind the gas station from Mick Jagger?”
and the other dude said, “yep.”
friendships start in different ways



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

May 4, 2011 at 8:14 pm

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understanding dirty hair

with one comment

there aren’t frequent bathroom trips
for silvanDevor-forded brooks by

the way of the hill going down, slight
slope, slow horse trot, catarina sweet

blouse, panties ( don’t say underwear ), shaded trees

but an hour a minute a lady with
dirty hair says ‘stop I must stop I must’
with ogard peeps and not candid to say ‘jest,
I may fly, jest I may’



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

May 4, 2011 at 7:53 pm

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explosion

leave a comment »

explosion



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Written by littledebbieoatmealcookie

April 30, 2011 at 8:56 pm

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