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	<description>will you live will you live in the physical world?</description>
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		<title>DECLARER WON THE NEXT TRICK</title>
		<link>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=228</link>
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		<pubDate>Tue, 07 Sep 2010 06:11:41 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>wpham</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[poetry]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[DECLARER WON THE NEXT TRICK My bravado is a clothespin on the washing-line. It once held her undergarments close, to chest, like classified documents. And we both knew well the scent of manila envelopes, the scenes in post offices, the resentful queues and brackish faces. Ours was a correspondence in corsets, without corsage: sodden ambulations [...]]]></description>
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		<title>THE WAY I SPEAK</title>
		<link>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=223</link>
		<comments>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=223#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 19 Aug 2010 21:25:03 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>wpham</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[poetry]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[THE WAY I SPEAK The way I speak is flow, is kind, is brutal good. With words I hound, like dogs, a pack, hunger in plasticine. I ask her how she is and want for nothing more: not the story of the way she twists, nor the why of where she hides her blonde-blonde hair. [...]]]></description>
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		<title>WHEN I REVENGE MY LADY LOVE</title>
		<link>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=221</link>
		<comments>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=221#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 19 Aug 2010 21:20:57 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>wpham</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[poetry]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[WHEN I REVENGE MY LADY LOVE When I revenge my lady love, I will regale you with anecdotes sanded down to gloss and circumstance. I will gift you with the fairy tale of how we met on a crowded metro train by way of diagonal glance to swiftly avoid the igneous stare of a glazing [...]]]></description>
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		<title>OUR MUSEUM</title>
		<link>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=218</link>
		<comments>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=218#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 26 Jun 2010 01:44:26 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>wpham</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[poetry]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[OUR MUSEUM We molded ourselves into a little death community. Like Pygmalion the master we fashioned each other in the image of that which we found most beautiful. Into hollowed-out jacuzzis we poured sweet crude oil and tied together the ankles of endangered pelicans and holding them in our arms we fell backwards the way [...]]]></description>
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		<title>ARCHAELOGICAL SURVEY FROM A FUTURE ERA</title>
		<link>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=216</link>
		<comments>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=216#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 22 Jun 2010 23:24:08 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>wpham</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[poetry]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[ARCHAELOGICAL SURVEY FROM A FUTURE ERA The human brain was painted on the neck of god: the heart on plain white canvas. Our lungs were stitched from plaster and stone- withered skin, the recollections of fettered deer. When we breathe we breathe compositions in the classical mode, not modern, not yet vulgar. The oils from [...]]]></description>
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		<title>MY VERY OWN MILITARY MARCH</title>
		<link>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=214</link>
		<comments>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=214#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 07 Jun 2010 04:49:13 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>wpham</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[poetry]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[MY VERY OWN MILITARY MARCH Drum thrum a-drum tum-thrum sprawl the footfalls of military men in perfect cadence and rifle-frown across the porches of girls in blush and gown, breasts neither full nor grown. They step in line, through circumstance, threading French folk dance and without thimble and without needle. They came to court, they [...]]]></description>
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		<title>IRRECONCILABLE</title>
		<link>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=212</link>
		<comments>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=212#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 18 Mar 2010 00:30:12 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>wpham</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[poetry]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[IRRECONCILABLE The wife says to the husband: I will reduce you to one-tenth of your former strength and then cut you further by factors of ten, again and again. The husband says to the wife: speak to my lawyer.]]></description>
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		<title>CONSERVATION ELEGAIC</title>
		<link>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=211</link>
		<comments>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=211#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 13 Mar 2010 23:28:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>wpham</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[poetry]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[CONSERVATION ELEGAIC Thunnus thynnus bleeds so prettily, watercolor fingerpaints on porcelain canvas. I splayed the guts upon her cheek, aligned the spine along the cut of her jaw. I was unsurprised to see it bleed so blue, spreading daylit sky around her shivering eyes. I sewed the smallest bones to her lashes and told her [...]]]></description>
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		<title>THIS MOST BEAUTIFUL PROOF OF THE THEORY OF NATURAL SELECTION</title>
		<link>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=209</link>
		<comments>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=209#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 02 Mar 2010 03:09:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>wpham</dc:creator>
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		<description><![CDATA[THIS MOST BEAUTIFUL PROOF OF THE THEORY OF NATURAL SELECTION He carried his mimesis with him as if it were a drugstore receipt. He was not unpalatable. On some days he sat at the bar and on some days he sat at a table. He asked her what are a few of your favorite things [...]]]></description>
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		<title>HUES THAT I HAD NOT SEEN (redraft)</title>
		<link>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=205</link>
		<comments>http://www.wpham.com/blog/?p=205#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 01 Mar 2010 01:00:28 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>wpham</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[fiction]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[HUES THAT I HAD NOT SEEN In the city they built war machines. The once-blue skies stained gray with the smoke of war: burning coal and smelting iron to build bombs and bombs and bombs. Everything became gray: the quaint little cafes, the mechanics&#8217; garages, and all the bookshops; the books inside and all their [...]]]></description>
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