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	<title>Short Story Library &#187; poetry submission</title>
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	<link>http://shortstory.us.com</link>
	<description>Free Online Magazine - Poetry, Micro Fiction, Flash Fiction and Short Stories</description>
	<lastBuildDate>Mon, 12 Jul 2010 00:00:59 +0000</lastBuildDate>
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			<item>
		<title>R is for Reed &#8211; By Kristine Ong Muslim</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/07/r-is-for-reed-by-kristine-ong-muslim/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/07/r-is-for-reed-by-kristine-ong-muslim/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 12 Jul 2010 00:00:38 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Kristine Ong Muslim</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=836</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[In college, I learned nothing
except humility, which I never
considered to be necessary.
I flunked an engineering mechanics
course twice and understood the
therapeutic properties of sifted
garden dirt and the premise that
all forces could act in all dimensions
if a professor willed them to.
The silence at the end of the corridor
was a vector quantity; it knew what
it wanted. I remembered [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/07/r-is-for-reed-by-kristine-ong-muslim/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Destination Poem &#8211; By John Grey</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/06/destination-poem-by-john-grey/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/06/destination-poem-by-john-grey/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 22 Jun 2010 00:00:54 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>John Grey</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=828</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Can’t get a cab
to save my life.
They fly by in
a blur of yellow.
I ask a cop,
what’s a good place
to nab a ride.
He shrugs his shoulders.
I don’t bother
to thank him.
It’s cold.
My bones ache.
Feet too
from all this walking.
Plus I’m buffeted,
shoved from all sides.
There’s too many people,
too many places to be,
and not enough
ways of going.
Another cab sails by,
almost [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/06/destination-poem-by-john-grey/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Wash The Car – By John Grey</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/06/wash-the-car-%e2%80%93-by-john-grey/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/06/wash-the-car-%e2%80%93-by-john-grey/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 07 Jun 2010 00:00:18 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>John Grey</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=815</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon
than wash the car.
Suds take to metal like cats to blood.
The smoothest action I know
is my hands lathering the windows.
A stray dog growls his inquiry.
I’m bathing a lovely woman if you must know.
That’s not chrome, it’s skin.
Those aren’t headlights, they’re breasts.
I even peek under the hood, open the [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/06/wash-the-car-%e2%80%93-by-john-grey/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Snapshots of Life &#8211; By Wolfgang Carstens</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/05/snapshots-of-life-by-wolfgang-carstens/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/05/snapshots-of-life-by-wolfgang-carstens/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 23 May 2010 14:00:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Wolfgang Carstens</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=790</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[i found
a digital
camera
at the
play
ground
there were
nine hun
dred
saved pic
tures on it
a man and
woman
holding
hands on
the beach
a wedding
a honey
moon a
young girl
with pig
tails a
lifetime
of mem
ories i
went through
one by one
deleting
every photo
like death
eating
their mad
ly in love
with life
About the Author
Wolfgang Carstens
Wolfgang Carstens lives in Canada with his wife, five children, two cats and a dog. His poetry is printed upon the backs of [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/05/snapshots-of-life-by-wolfgang-carstens/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>3</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>outside my window &#8211; By John Yamrus</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/05/outside-my-window-by-john-yamrus/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/05/outside-my-window-by-john-yamrus/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 02 May 2010 14:00:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>John Yamrus</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=788</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[outside my window
the neighbor’s
cutting his grass,
the guy
across the street
is hosing down
his driveway
and there’s a kid
going up and down the block
hanging flyers
on mailboxes.
that’s just
the kind of day it is…
nothing
out of the ordinary.
nothing
memorable.
just like
this
poem.
but, it all
still needs
to be done.
the flyers,
the driveway,
the grass,
and,
most especially,
this poem.
i’m pretty sure
that’s the way
it works. 
About the Author
John Yamrus
John Yamrus has been a fixture [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/05/outside-my-window-by-john-yamrus/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>6</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>love hearts &#8211; By Daryl Baldwin</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/04/love-hearts-by-daryl-baldwin/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/04/love-hearts-by-daryl-baldwin/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 21 Apr 2010 23:00:28 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Daryl Baldwin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=770</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[love hearts
etched into the bark
of our childhood oak
recumbent seat for lovers
and climbing frame for children
 
the wind has no luck
with our sturdy roots.
About the Author
Daryl Baldwin
Daryl lives in Gloucester, England. He is married and has three children and one dog. He works in a local company making products for aircraft and other vehicles. In his spare [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/04/love-hearts-by-daryl-baldwin/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>4</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>California Summer &#8211; By Michael Lee Johnson</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/04/california-summer-by-michael-lee-johnson/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/04/california-summer-by-michael-lee-johnson/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 08 Apr 2010 02:00:55 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Michael Lee Johnson</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=747</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[ 
Coastal warm breeze
off  Santa Monica, California
the sun turns salt
shakers upside down
and it rains white smog, humid mist.
No thunder, no lightening,
nothing else to do
except sashay
forward into liquid
and swim
into eternal days
like this.
About the Author
Michael Lee Johnson
Michael Lee Johnson is a poet and freelance writer from Itasca, Illinois. His new poetry chapbook with pictures, titled From Which Place [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/04/california-summer-by-michael-lee-johnson/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Connie Smells Like Lillies &#8211; By Lawrence Gladeview</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/03/connie-smells-like-lillies-by-lawrence-gladeview/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/03/connie-smells-like-lillies-by-lawrence-gladeview/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 17 Mar 2010 00:00:51 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Lawrence Gladeview</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=713</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[ 
irresistible women vehemently reject her
inadequate, she screws overweight reprobates
insolent drug dealers progeny her face
strung-out, she croaks and thrashes
doctors vowelize no surgery time again
dejected, she stabs malnourished skin
family members identify a failed investment
capricious, she squats seedy hollowed-outs
she always used to tell me
now that we weren’t together
i couldn’t tell her what to do
i stand here now, holding [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/03/connie-smells-like-lillies-by-lawrence-gladeview/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Other Side &#8211; By Adelaide B. Shaw</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/03/the-other-side-by-adelaide-b-shaw/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/03/the-other-side-by-adelaide-b-shaw/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 02 Mar 2010 02:00:31 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Adelaide B. Shaw</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=693</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Sunday afternoon in a new cafe there are no other customers. Soon a group of five comes in with a swish of wind. Not the usual snatches of café talk- school, jobs, children, love, today’s news- the menu of daily lives. This group speaks of “channeling” through to the other side, communicating with a deceased [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/03/the-other-side-by-adelaide-b-shaw/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Bottled – By Douglas C. Pugh</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/02/bottled-%e2%80%93-by-douglas-c-pugh/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/02/bottled-%e2%80%93-by-douglas-c-pugh/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 16 Feb 2010 00:00:48 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Douglas C. Pugh</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=682</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[One word encompasses the fiery rage of hell
released in torrent invective, passion balled in knotted gouts
struggling to frame the blow before it lands
boundless, it has no vessel that contains
reason tears and shreds, a tornado incensed
with no sense of the red mist
through which it sees
yet green, shifted through envy and it&#8217;s mad gaze
it can cycle, a [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/02/bottled-%e2%80%93-by-douglas-c-pugh/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Eddie &#8211; By John Yamrus</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/02/eddie-by-john-yamrus/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/02/eddie-by-john-yamrus/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 02 Feb 2010 02:00:27 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>John Yamrus</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=655</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Eddie
liked to
think he was
stronger than dirt,
but
he had a
weak spot
in his heart
for his dog,
Bastard.
now,
old Bastard,
he was tough.
he’d been hit
by cars
twice,
and,
even when Eddie
found him,
three years ago,
under the Parker’s steps,
with a
broken leg
and his throat cut,
he didn’t even
whimper.
Eddie wouldn’t have
noticed him
if he
didn’t hear him
moving around
in the leaves.
in fact,
that’s how
the dog
got his name.
when Eddie saw
the condition he was in,
he said
“Bastard!”
and [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/02/eddie-by-john-yamrus/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>3</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>the royal – By matthew dickens</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/01/the-royal-%e2%80%93-by-matthew-dickens/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/01/the-royal-%e2%80%93-by-matthew-dickens/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 19 Jan 2010 02:00:59 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Matthew Dickens</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=635</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[we are lovers
lost in mexico
searching for a name
in which
to carve a stolen tree
we are marbles
clocking brilliant
in the perfect bend
of youth
we are strangers
bound together—
bobbing buoys
on the tide
it is likely
we will die
before we meet.
About the Author
Matthew Dickens
Matthew Dickens, b1982, has no degree worth mentioning. His mother is disappointed. He has been a sailor, hitchhiker, bum, outlaw, poet, [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/01/the-royal-%e2%80%93-by-matthew-dickens/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>4</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Malevich’s ‘self-portrait’ – By Daryl Baldwin</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/01/malevich%e2%80%99s-%e2%80%98self-portrait%e2%80%99-%e2%80%93-by-daryl-baldwin/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/01/malevich%e2%80%99s-%e2%80%98self-portrait%e2%80%99-%e2%80%93-by-daryl-baldwin/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 04 Jan 2010 02:00:10 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Daryl Baldwin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=611</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Malevich’s self-portrait
Red stripes
on white canvas
Lashes
of father’s belt
 
About the Author
Daryl Baldwin
Daryl lives in Gloucester, England. He is married and has three children and one dog. He works in a local company making products for aircraft and other vehicles. In his spare time he likes to write screenplays and poetry. He has been published in The Library’s [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2010/01/malevich%e2%80%99s-%e2%80%98self-portrait%e2%80%99-%e2%80%93-by-daryl-baldwin/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>7</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>i never thought i’d &#8211; By John Yamrus</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/12/i-never-thought-i%e2%80%99d-by-john-yamrus/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/12/i-never-thought-i%e2%80%99d-by-john-yamrus/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 21 Dec 2009 02:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>John Yamrus</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=598</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[i never thought i’d
end
this way.
chronic pain
24/7.
it
hurts to move, it
hurts to sit, it hurts
to breathe.
that wasn’t supposed
to be me.
i expected to be
hitting my 60s
fully formed
as the crazy old guy
who hit all
the elevator buttons
and ran.
never,
no way
did i
expect
for this
to happen.
but that’s
okay.
you
play the hand
you’re dealt.
besides,
inside
i still am
that
guy
i wanted to become.
and whoever’s
responsible
for that other thing…
you and i
gotta talk.
About the Author
John [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/12/i-never-thought-i%e2%80%99d-by-john-yamrus/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>4</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Argument – By Brad M. Bucklin</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/12/the-argument-%e2%80%93-by-brad-m-bucklin/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/12/the-argument-%e2%80%93-by-brad-m-bucklin/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 14 Dec 2009 01:00:32 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Brad M. Bucklin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=582</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I forced the cold air
through my teeth, it
billowed like fog.
I screamed, raged
and hurled snowballs.
I stomped on puddles
and gobs of slush clung
to my boots like oatmeal;
the plopping sound infuriated me.
I went blind and stepped
away from myself long
enough to look back.
I saw that I was running
towards her.
About the Author
Brad M. Bucklin
Brad M. Bucklin received a Bachelor’s Degree [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/12/the-argument-%e2%80%93-by-brad-m-bucklin/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Rose Petals –By  B. Collette Davis</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/11/rose-petals-%e2%80%93by-b-collette-davis/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/11/rose-petals-%e2%80%93by-b-collette-davis/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 30 Nov 2009 01:00:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>B. Collette Davis</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=561</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I had three of the prettiest petals, though I have never seen them
Crystals, little dynasties of brilliance
They were of my creation and mistakenly in my care
I was undeserving to acquire the red, gracious leaves
Gorgeous rose pearls cannot hit the floor
The petals coiled and spun feather-like in my survival
I am guilty. I let them go.
Anesthesia brings [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/11/rose-petals-%e2%80%93by-b-collette-davis/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>i just now – By John Yamrus</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/11/i-just-now-%e2%80%93-by-john-yamrus/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/11/i-just-now-%e2%80%93-by-john-yamrus/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 16 Nov 2009 02:00:46 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>John Yamrus</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=534</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[i just now
agreed to
another interview.
this one’s
for monday.
it’ll be
the same old questions, like:
“how’d you get started?”
“who do you read?”
“who are you influenced by?”
all the same questions
and never once
do i get asked
the right one.
in my opinion,
the only one.
the one that says:
“you write a lot about
dogs.
why is that?”
if they’d only
ask me that
i’d go away happy.
i’d sit them down
and [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/11/i-just-now-%e2%80%93-by-john-yamrus/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>4</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Macaronic Melancholy &#8211; By Yassen Vasilev</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/11/macaronic-melancholy-by-yassen-vasilev/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/11/macaronic-melancholy-by-yassen-vasilev/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 02 Nov 2009 01:00:44 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Yassen Vasilev</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=510</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[all roads lead
in sunday with one boot
I depart with spoon and fork
tied to the chains of slow food
rome is 7 hills of pasta on a plate
cannelloni
tagliatelle
ravioli
penne
fettucini
lasagna
rigatoni
7 hills of pasta
spilled with blue cheese and blood
with fountains bolognese
with pesto aqueducts
with oily rivers
with mozzarella squares
with parmesan buildings
with garlic statues
with ancient forum of prosciutto
with asparagus columns
with tomato colisseum
with spanish [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/11/macaronic-melancholy-by-yassen-vasilev/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Bad behaviour – By Douglas C. Pugh</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/10/bad-behaviour-%e2%80%93-by-douglas-c-pugh/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/10/bad-behaviour-%e2%80%93-by-douglas-c-pugh/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 19 Oct 2009 02:00:20 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Douglas C. Pugh</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=480</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[all perspective
standpoint, viewpoint
morals and the crushing bind
of rules
boundaries are there
to push, test their limits
their elasticity, their snap
back when you find
too far
rule bound, hide bound
tucked in books and corners
words viewed, twisted, used
in a thousand ways
not intended
and yet
they will holler
for the sanctitude and grace
of the author
those zealots of the printed, modified
word, harbingers of flame and insistence
they will [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Pillow talk &#8211; By Douglas C. Pugh</title>
		<link>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/09/pillow-talk-by-douglas-c-pugh/</link>
		<comments>http://shortstory.us.com/2009/09/pillow-talk-by-douglas-c-pugh/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 28 Sep 2009 02:00:55 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Douglas C. Pugh</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[poetry submission]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortstory.us.com/?p=468</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I am the shoulder
a pillow
soft, compliant
listening
fluff me, plump me
rest in me
I am succour
and support
the silent listener
of the night
cornered but not too harsh
crumpled by the pass of time
a sop for hidden tears
the bitten throe of passions height
the bag of angers vent
the holder of secret wishes
in the night word walk of dreams
I am the pillow
rest here, my [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
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