Alphabetical stories


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this is where we end -- the exorbitant eye of forgotten days.


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papaya over-ripe displayed on the half with spoons sticking out - ” very ripe, tastes good “ blue crabs cooked with lavender i was sniffing a spoonful when the chef came out


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I'm waiting for your voice. My trembling hand is so damp the phone could slip from my fragile grasp at any moment. Each ring burns in my ear and makes the washing machine in my stomach tumble faster and faster. After three rings, or it could be four, or forty, I hear…

unstoppable fire

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First of all, you should know an unstoppable fire made my panties roar for you. Maybe you will come to understand what effect you had on my life, my whole life, I mean. You should know the effect you had on people. Me, and Sharon too, both. And I’m sure

Unsuccessful Assault Upon a Prey Thought Unsuspecting

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The fox sees a duck he thinks he can catch. I stop to watch: I could intervene with a shout but I let him play his gambit out.

Until Again

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Methuselah. That’s what they call him, the regulars that ride my train. Other things too, but Methuselah is the one that sticks in my mind. It seems to fit. It’s not as cruel.

Until the Dawn (part 1)

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Tara was so tired. The bus connection was off again, and her ankles were so swollen. Maybe it was the heat, the humidity, she wasn't sure… but things were definitely getting worse. She sighed. At least the bus shelter had an empty spot on the bench, so as she…

Until there is nothing left but the smallest of hands

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Until Tomorrow But That's Just Some Other Time

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Roanne awoke on the livingroom couch with the usual willies dancing in stomp time inside her. She blinked, looked around. The room was a mess, with clothes strewn hither and yon on the floor and the chairs and TV. On the walls, rock stars,…

Until We Died

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. . . hot sand and quiet ocean only.

Until We See Again

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I saw a big dog By the side of the road I saw a small deer By the side of the road A little maroon water in a glass As I was driving home Under darkness With the wind that was under a rose New blood will fill the earth And we must lo

Until, the Stars

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Until the stars form last nightI zoom out with an empty heart.Whose forgiveness forgesseas of overabundance, parksUnder the river's bed as magazine?Jet heavy, my tenses shift in an operation between two frightened doctors. I'm hiding onside: the lines & in the branches…


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Doris LessingWasn´t messingAbout or wingingIt when she wrote The Grass Is Singing


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I am a sunflower. I turn my yellow and black face, bruised, to the sun, hoping its light will heal me. With my eyes closed I can see my stamen, veins in my eyelids, bulbous where they intersect. The sun feeds…


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the colors of the night


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I had the day off so I decided to do some fishing, browsing for new writers at the fish tanks, book shelves filled with American Literature and I began near Zelazny, trolling backwards with an eye out, hunting, hoping to find a buried treasure in an unsun


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Emily's just two miles away She has a Theremin leg She loves to play hopscotch all day And slide home to tea on a sled Bergamot flavours her favourite foods Strawberries grow in her hair She doesn't like guns, she loves hot-cross buns And…


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What else, H, is there to say about heartbreak? What else could it be but our hands, cupped as if holding water against our chests, then broken into halves. Or the picture of this one, pretending to load a gun. Or this one, soaked in smoke—asking for


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I assume the shape of a pronoun.


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Britney the master skipper raps her stone against the rock and says, "Whoever skips a dozen stones fastest gets the purple thermos."


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our cogs winding and whirring


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I've always been a sucker for a pretty face. It's unreasonable sometimes. Yesterday, in the middle of nowhere was a house that might have seen better days in the dustbowl of depression era Oklahoma. Two Australian Shepherds launched from the rickety porch. It was clear…


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THE LAST POETS: a blazoned signifier of designer label radical chic stretched across the influential chest of a not so radical chick a sinuous stick-girl a feted model, considered super arranged in cover-girl posture in full exposure …

Untitled (from Postcards from a Railway Station)

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As the silence starts gashing I decide it's the moment to take all my thoughts for a walk; To a sound like a million lightbulbs shutting their fuses I resume my view, Across the sun-strobe streets with blind nightlamps; the safflower sun is lopped on its stalk …

Untitled Haiku from Japanese Game Show by JANEY SMITH

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It's a haiku. It's its own snippet.

Untitled NaNo Project

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My name is Sydnée Figge, and this is the beginning of my story. I suppose it should be said that even though people call me Syd, I am not a man. People who can actually see me know that right away, and I’m not ashamed of that even though I’m a bit olde

Untouched By Me, Alas!

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Another run-in with the police happened one night in Elmhurst. I was seeing this girl I'd met in my Shakespeare night class at Elmhurst College. She and I and Andy and a friend of hers, I think, were parked in front of her house, drinking a six pack of beer when her…

Unveiling Kirkiss Automated Amazon Reviews!!!

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No! No! Nonononono!

Unwanted Stories: A Public Service Advisory

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Unfinished, deeply flawed stories require the kind of handling you see in movies where a Virus That Will Doom Mankind is disposed of by scientists in hazmat suits.


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‘I love you' said the man at the book signing. He was one of the last. The shop was closing. The staff were starting to turn off the lights. She was sitting in the glow of a table lamp with her latest novel in stacks around her.