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August-September 2014

 

  • an underground sunday with the king of pop When the final word has been sung, one of them  holds out hand, cupping well-worn baseball cap  belonging to no team, trying to silently persuade some  currency out of the ones who have some to spare.
    an underground sunday with the king of pop When the final word has been sung, one of them holds out hand, cupping well-worn baseball cap belonging to no team, trying to silently persuade some currency out of the ones who have some to spare.
  • “School” (A Photo-Story) Part I Ten years ago the government shut down a considerable number of village schools. They collected   the students in groups before the sunrise and made them get into vehicles that would take the students   to faraway villages, teachers, and schoolyards that were unknown to them.
    “School” (A Photo-Story) Part I Ten years ago the government shut down a considerable number of village schools. They collected the students in groups before the sunrise and made them get into vehicles that would take the students to faraway villages, teachers, and schoolyards that were unknown to them.
  • Arse Poetica One of the contradictory ideas  in this poem (for each poem has at least two)  is ...
    Arse Poetica One of the contradictory ideas in this poem (for each poem has at least two) is ...

zebra stallion shattering vocal chord  with one intellectual hoof, charged  for falling in love, charged for being  there, charged for not being there,
I, Joseph, am King of all I survey. The steam roils off the water and into the dry crisp air over the village, anointing my subjects like incense. I loll back, silver hair streaming from my temples. They always say that I look like Leonard Bernstein.
The night Jerry lost his mind, I saw myself on the local news. The prevailing emotion upon seeing myself was embarrassment, which is itself embarrassing. Like what should I care, at this point?
The Otter dares you to write this photo's poem or story.
Beynine yaklaşma fazla, düşersin aşağı  Hiçbir suç bağışlamaz gövdeni o zaman; zamanla  soğuk dolaplarda kaybolur en sevdiğin muhit ve giysi
 “You’ve got a perfect spot here near the road,” I said. “I was tempted to turn around and head back for the highway, but I caught sight of your table with all these birdhouses, and I just had to stop.” I studied the intricately carved house in my hands. “They’re beautiful.”