Tony Hoagland, from Application for Release from the Dream; “The Complex Sentence”
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As soon as you begin to ask the question, Who loves me?
you are completely screwed, because
the next question is How Much?
and then it is hundreds of hours later,
and you are still hunched over
your flowcharts and abacus,
trying to decide if you have gotten enough.
This is the loneliest job in the world:
to be an accountant of the heart.
It is late at night. You are by yourself,
and all around you, you can hear
the sounds of people moving
in and out of love,
pushing the turnstiles, putting
their coins in the slots,
paying the price which is asked,
which constantly changes.
No one knows why.
Tony Hoagland, “The Loneliest Job in the World”
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tony hoagland, faulkner
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Tony Hoagland, Sweet Ruin; from ‘Sweet Ruin’ (edited excerpt)
TEXT ID: What is wrong with peace? I couldn't say. But, sweet ruin, I can hear you.
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'How It Adds Up' by Tony Hoagland || Luke Skywalker
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microdosing on application for release from the dream (2024) by reading application for release from the dream (2015)
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favourite poems of january
tony hoagland note to reality
henri cole middle earth: “myself and cats”
minerva s.m. kamra chronic
stacie cassarino zero at the bone: “in the kitchen”
bonnie jo stufflebeam barking dog nocturnal
ron silliman the alphabet: “you, part i”
sara borjas a heart can only be broken once, like a window
karen an-hwei lee song of the oyamel
louise glück afterword
kai nham follow the moon
elisabeth houston standard american english: “re-peat! re-verse! re-hearse!”
victoria stitt the carolina quarterly: “autumn convalescence”
noor ibn najam you smelled like an animal
ben still concept pest control
ray dipalma obediant laughter: “after midnight”
sasha pimentel cats
thanh-tam nguyen a lit match to burn what your country doesn’t remember
sarah abbas collecting words in attempt to keep them the same
julia wong kcomt (tr. jennifer shyue) woman eaten by cats
lisa jarnot ring of fire: “the bridge”
torrin a. greathouse i am beginning to mistake the locust’s song for silence
siaara freeman when i speak of hunger
vandana khanna train to agra: “evening prayer”
ouyang jianghe (tr. austin woerner) mother, kitchen
kayleb rae candrilli sand & silt
antony hecht an offering for patricia
sara ellen fowler shed project notes, august 30, 2019 - la madera, nm
vincent hiscock voice in the air: afterthought
margie piercy mars & her children: “the cat’s song”
eva chen how to bleed a ghost
sayuri ayers cordella magazine: “in the season of pink ladies”
buy me a coffee
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Tony Hoagland, Application for Release from the Dream: Poems
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The Loneliest Job in the World
Tony Hoagland
As soon as you begin to ask the question, Who loves me?
you are completely screwed, because
the next question is How much?
and then it is hundreds of hours later,
and you are still hunched over
your flowcharts and abacus,
trying to decide if you have gotten enough.
This is the loneliest job in the world:
to be an accountant of the heart.
It is late at night. You are by yourself,
and all around you, you can hear
the sounds of people moving
in and out of love,
pushing the turnstiles, putting
their coins in the slots,
paying the price which is asked,
which constantly changes.
No one knows why.
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on grief and silently enduring it all
I get up and dress for work. I am overcome by a profound sense of anguish so inexplicably severe that no words are enough to encapsulate the unbearable grief and futility of time passing. I pick up my bag and leave.
Moshi Moshi, Banana Yoshimoto
Don’t Tell Anyone, Tony Hoagland
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tony hoagland, crazy motherfucker weather
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What I like about the trees is how
They do not talk about the failure of their parents
And what I like about the grasses is that
They are not grasses in recovery
And what I like about the flowers is
That they are not flowers in need of empowerment or validation. They sway
Upon their thorny stems
As if whatever was about to happen next tonight
was sure to be completely interesting.
- Tony Hoagland
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