1 poem
by José Arturo Flores
José Arturo Flores is a graduate of the writing program at California Institute of the Arts. He lives in Southern Cal. He is the author of 3 books of poetry: Inflorescence, The Soul of the Tick, and Elegy for a Blade of Grass.
37 Easy Epigrams for a Motherless Child
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she’s older by 30 seconds, she thinks that counts, she thinks rubbing one’s body against scripture is the best kind of warmth
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all of creation took less than one second! even a pair of mittens
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when I was six I wanted to be a pop star, at the time it was not an embarrassing thing to say, it was quite common for a kid in a turtleneck to look out the window during class and dream about stardom
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an empty bag is not filled with sand by a good idea no matter how good or “out there” it happens to be
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today it is no longer possible to look out a window with meandering proclivities
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compared to a slothful act men and women lock horns on the permafrost
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do you still think about the critic?
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when you’re in your bed at night counting the number of pimples on your face do you use an abacus?
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I may never learn to walk, I may never learn to tie my shoes
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and that’s perfectly normal
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my true goal is to become Animal dripping with taboos not knowing where I will snap the neck of my next meal
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to stand alone means you have reached a state of flawlessness and for now you don’t need any further assistance
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who if any one has reached this lofty pinnacle
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it’s lonely at the bottom
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her life is different than my life because she was raised by loving parents who doted on her while I was raised by a pack of banshees
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dance if you must but save stillness for the island of Lesbos
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la puerca ya torció el rabo
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if you see her say hello
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the artist formerly known as Crazy Eddie rose to prominence throughout the Tri-State Region and is now living in an old folks home in Poughkeepsie
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disambiguation number one, Eddie Vedder strummed a guitar with a rhythmic pulse all night long and was adored by fans and many women
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some keepsake waits for you at the bottom of a lost REM
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as long as you can keep the hacky sack in the air, boys will wander the roads of the hard life
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he was beyond reproach and living in a discarded abalone shell
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even the warm Baja waves were not enamored of his grace and wit for he was cursed from birth
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as soon as the shit hits the fan all of your senses awaken and this is the gift of time in a bottle
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what if all my life has been a waste standing here a less than zero sum a ballpark figure lording over Jamaica, Queens from my college dormitory
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is notoriety a man-made sustenance?
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just keep it up and all your goals will vanish in the blink of an eye as you are digging catch-basins in the savanna
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airborne is the treasure that consumes the ghost
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holy men have roamed these hills in loin cloths but which woman has regained her footing on a Rodgers and Hammerstein tune
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sticky they call all bottomless pits
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a plaster of Paris boy made his way home through the ganglions of night
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arrested by a lukewarm vision
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several men and women, humans as it were, have noticed a baby horn protruding from unwept tears at the center of their personal philanthropy
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fourth floor Schermerhorn extension bathroom was the floating palace of pearls taken with a packet of sugar
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through the unquilted curtain of graffiti
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even cilia weep for a mannequin in a shop window who will never go to law school