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dan-deveronica
dan-deveronica
Author of contemporary American novel Sick Boy. Part time poet. Boysterous drunk. Likes short walks to the toilet.
It doesn’t solve anything. When your head is spinning. It doesn’t change what happened. When you can’t remember the night before. It can’t cure your ailments. But it can drain your pockets. And it feels so good and light. Staggering up the street with empty pockets, and no worries.
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Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
Alcohol
As kids we played out in the yard. With green grass against our feet. Always in the moment. Never missing a beat. As kids we swapped baseball cards, Like our kids swap STD's.
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Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 7:42 AM UTC
The Good Ole Days
I saw a man walk into a parking meter today. He made a curious face, with pursed lips and a scrunched nose. The blow caught him off guard and took the wind right out of him. He was busy texting. Or reading an email. Or posting a status update. He was so caught up in a world miles away, that he failed to see what was in front of him. Strange how stupid we look, using our smart phones.
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Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
"Smart" Phone
The car is frigid, and so is my wife. Her cramping bloated abdomen Is ruining my life. There are not enough tampons to soak up her rage. On a never-ending drive to Florida, Trapped In a silver four door cage.
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Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
26 Hours of uninterrupted ***
The dogs next door don't stop Barking Ever. They circle the fenced in area With mud caked paws Screaming chanting Let me in To their masters Let me in But they don't let them in And they don't acknowledge the barking But they do hear the report From the muzzle of a rifle And they definitely Hear The silence
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Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
The Loudest Quiet
Clamp trapped **** tricking Thighs never closed On her face In her hair In between her toes Clamp trapped **** snaring Legs never shut Gaze in to her soul less eyes you'll see a ******* ****
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Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
**** Machine
My pale skin had turned lobster, tender to the touch. The day was being born, rays of a rising sun peeked through the blinds of my balcony. Sweet sounds of waves and gentle winds. Children's toes dug into grey sands as salty water stung eyes. I rolled out of bed. To do what I could, what every man should, And drank the warm beer sitting on my nightstand.
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Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
Sun-Bleached in the Morning