Emerald Dragon Archives

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Posted on November 14, 2010 at 11:13 AM Comments comments (0)

Sister Josephine watches

The nun opposite fold her

Napkin first one way and


Then another then laying

It down on the table run

The edge of her hand across


To press it flat and then

Places it under the table

In a space for implements


After which she takes her

Knife fork and spoon and

Licks them clean one after


The other and place them

Under the table too a...

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Posted on November 8, 2010 at 10:15 AM Comments comments (0)

Sit on the stone step and

Read Mama says do not

Interrupt me while I am

Busy and Minnie looks


At the book and at the

Words and the pictures

And turns a page and

Looks at that too but


She would rather be

Playing with her dolls

Or going outside and

Running or playing with


The other children but

Mama says no the children

Are too rough and rude

And itR...

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Posted on October 29, 2010 at 4:04 PM Comments comments (2)

She knows he is interested

In more than her conversation

Despite the fact they talk of


Dostoyevsky and Walt Whitman

And his eyes seldom leave hers

But now and then she sees his


Eyes wander low and settle like

Greedy dogs upon her legs and

Maybe dreams of places he can’t


Go at least not yet and if he thinks

She doesn’t know and hasn’t seen

Him then he’s a ...

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Posted on October 23, 2010 at 3:15 PM Comments comments (0)

Even the most textbook

Looking suicide can be

Arranged and made to

Look as such, even if it


Wasn’t, says Bill to the

Young man he’s just

Fucked from across the

Hall, standing by the


Hotel window, looking

At the street below. Maybe

You’d get the hit and how

It had to look (accidents


Were choice, but needed

To be planned to the last

Iota) or ...

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Posted on October 9, 2010 at 4:17 PM Comments comments (1)

Let them have it between

The eyes; that scares them


Shitless, Bill says, showing

Budgen his gun, closing an


Eye, aiming playfully at young

Budgen’s head. Focuses them


Real sharp, death and nearness

Of their demise. Budgen puts


His hand on Bill’s penis, looking

Away from the gun, giving no


Thought to death, but the next

Hot fuck, the shot int...

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Posted on October 7, 2010 at 7:55 AM Comments comments (1)

Suicide, they said, the police when they came, he tall and thin with dark eyes and she plump with round eyes like those of cows. They have laid her on a slab, naked, except for a white shroud covering her lower body. She looks as if asleep; no signs of injury, no slit wrists, or wounds, or hanging burns around her neck; she is just as she was the last time you saw her a week or so ago wrapped up in bed, sleeping off a busy day or hectic night. Anorexic, some nurse mutters over your shoulder, ...

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Posted on September 29, 2010 at 3:54 AM Comments comments (1)

She’d be the one left

Out of conversations,

The onlooker, the dark


Peripheral angel, as

Father called her, always

Looking in, listening to


The talk, adding no words.

She knew the inner voices.

They spoke too frequently


To ignore. Don’t let it get

You down, one voice within

Would say, they’re just all


Too human for you to attend

To the...

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Posted on September 28, 2010 at 7:44 AM Comments comments (1)

Falmouth was one of

The senior boys who

Liked to boast of his

Prowess with the girls,


And would describe in

Intimate detail the inner

Workings of the female

Body and how it worked


And where they liked to

Be touched and how, and

The boys would gather

Around him eager to learn,


Some even drooling at the

Mouth and imagining that

Out there some place some

Girl was waiti...

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MATINS 1907.

Posted on September 25, 2010 at 3:50 AM Comments comments (1)

The bell from the cloister rang. Echoed around and settled upon nun in bed cosy in blanket against morning's cold and frost. Stirred. Head raised. Eyes peered into the dawn's light, sighed, shivered, moved arms against body's length. Closed eyes. Wished for more sleep. None to have. Bell rang. Time, ladies, please. Time and tide. Stirred again. Lifted head. Sighed. Gazed at bedside table. Clock tick tock, tick tock. Moved to edge of the bed. Feet dangled. Toes wiggled. Hands joined for prayer...

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Posted on September 24, 2010 at 7:30 AM Comments comments (1)

It’s not often in Manhattan

In broad daylight

That you see Christ passing


Along on the sidewalk,

But the African American

Standing outside a store


Is certain it was he

Whom he saw

Go by a few moments before,


Yet why he thought so,

What made him think

It was Christ,


He couldn’t say,

It just came to him

At that moment


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