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From Al Purdy:

February 14, 2017
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If it came about you died
it might be said I loved you:
love is an absolute as death is,
and neither bears false witness to the other —
But you remain alive.

No, I do not love you
hate the word,
that private tyranny inside a public sound,
your freedom’s yours and not my own:
but hold my separate madness like a sword,
and plunge it in your body all night long.

If death shall strip our bones of all but bones,
then here’s the flesh and flesh that’s drunken-sweet
as wine cups in deceptive lunar light:
reach up your hand and turn the moonlight off,
and maybe it was never there at all,
so never promise anything to me:
but reach across the darkness with your hand,
reach across the distance of tonight,
and touch the moving moment once again
before you fall asleep —

– Necropsy of Love

From Marty McConnell:

January 27, 2017
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leaving is not enough; you must
stay gone. train your heart
like a dog. change the locks
even on the house he’s never
visited. you lucky, lucky girl.
you have an apartment
just your size. a bathtub
full of tea. a heart the size
of Arizona, but not nearly
so arid.

– from Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell

From Warsan Shire:

January 17, 2017
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To my daughter I will say,

‘when the men come, set yourself on fire.’

– In Love and In War

From Charles Bukowski:

January 13, 2017

you were one of the
best female poets and I told the publishers,
editors, “her, print her, she’s mad but she’s
magic. there’s no lie in her fire.” I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,
but that didn’t happen. your letters got sadder.
your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all
lovers betray. it didn’t help. you said
you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and
the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying
bench every night and wept for the lovers who had
hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never
heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide
3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you
I would probably have been unfair to you or you
to me. it was best like this.

– An Almost Made Up Poem

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From Joy Harjo:

January 10, 2017
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It’s nearing midnight and

something holy

Is always coming around. Take love for instance, and the

Perfect neck of a woman who’s given up everything for the

forbidden leap

– We Were There When Jazz Was Invented

From David Bowie:

January 8, 2017

Blank screen tv
Preening ourselves in the snow
Forget my name
But I’m over you
Blended sunrise
And it’s a dying world
Humming Rheingold
We scavenge up our clothes
All my violence, raging tears upon the sheets
I’m resentful, for we’re strangers when we meet

– Strangers When We Meet

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From Julian Barnes:

December 28, 2016

You put together two people who have not been put together before. Sometimes it is like that first attempt to harness a hydrogen balloon to a fire balloon: do you prefer crash and burn, or burn and crash? … Then, at some point, sooner or later, for this reason or that, one of them is taken away. And what is taken away is greater than the sum of what was there.

– Levels of Life

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