Alphabetical stories

A Plea for Artists to Be Activists for Women’s Rights: Don’t Explain

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When I feel the sort of longing that sneaks up on me unawares, the sort held for the wrong kind of person that can make a woman clutch her heart in the night and sullies her blood with unwanted dreams in a thinking person's landscape, I hear, too, the deep…

A Pleasant Fiction

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We pull up under the port cochère (which I am NOT allowed to call ‘the car tent’, even though I built it) just as the front door opens. Jackson, our eldest, saunters out with a dish rag over his bare shoulder like he owns the place.

a poem by Darryl Price restructured by Samuel Derrick Rosen

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A Poem for Chris Toll

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we all die from the bottom up

A Poem Written About You Because I Missed You

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what i will always remember of you is of that singular sunday / when a black lock of hair brushed against your cheek

A Poet in a Coffeeshop in the Motherfucking Nineties

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Look at her. She doesn't want to be here. The kiss and “wouldn't miss it for the world” was as empty as her crossed arms, crossed legs, and jittery foot were loaded. She attacked the foam of her latte with a tiny red straw. I wanted to scream. Complain about the…

A Political Man

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There's a potent multimedia declaration Flying eagles starred and striped Mocking cartoon independence Where every promise shines Not every veteran's hero Chequered drug misuse Glorious public relations Concealed a…

A political parable

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One of these days we aren’t going to believe whatever they tell us.

A Portraiture of Circling Back (or Why I Hate Fashist Assholes Like Mohandes Gandhi)

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"In the shit the dogs circle, talking of a dead bitch, maybe Merkel" - Michelangelo's poem of a stultified flower that never emulsifies, an orange California poppy of pink-gold drenched in urine and a horse in either burns bright whinnies and trollops neigh a pipping…

A pot of tea helps to pass the evening

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Charlie Parker never had a gig like this. I imagined he did, once, like me, steep mushrooms and make a potion, though I doubt he plodded through thick snow, soaking his sneakers and savoring the cold licking his toes, and making a contract with the full moon, to never…

A Prayer for Adelaide

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Any God we could respect/ would listen, kind, to prayers,/ compassionate but resolute –

A Prayer to the Porcelain God

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In her cleavage, Mark is able to discern a golden heart with the image of an arrow piercing it. A bow is super-imposed over both. “I see you are a devotee of Cupid.” Mark states. “I notice that you are a follower of Bacchus.” Diana winks.

A printing press.

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Her left shoulder dips involuntarily, her body responsive to the harsh words barraging her vulnerable neck. It's as if her nervous system is trying to invoke gravity, forcing nouns, adjectives, verbs to tumble off of her askew shoulders. It's too late. Each…

A Proper Passsing

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He trudged up the steep, antique, spiral staircase to his study. Many hours had been spent in the sanctuary of this room, studying, praying, sleeping; however, now his intentions were much different.

A Quandry

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On the river he rows a dory. It is filling with water. There is a rectangular hole in the bottom.

A Quantum of Disappointment

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Reality winks at us then scampers off

A Question for the Gods

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She reached out her arms and spoke to the moon, "I ran from my fears, from loving too soon." She gazed at the heavens and cried to the stars, "I could not promise him all of my heart." She wiped away her tears and laughed at the trees, "Not a soul on this earth would…

A Question of Choice

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The contrast can be summed up in a sip.

A Quiet Noise

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the sun is quiet like the mountains, the birds except for their wings

A Quiet Walk

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I walked down a crowded sidewalk, but not with people. We were trees dressed in Tuesday clothes, Tuesday coats and Tuesday hats.

A Quite Literary Catfight

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Cavett asked McCarthy what she thought was overrated about Hellman. McCarthy–never known to mince words–replied “Every word she writes is a lie, including ‘and’ and ‘the.'"

A Quiz Show Audition

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However could anyone get Joyce scholarship mixed up with physical anthropology?

A Raisin in The Sun

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I was about sixteen or seventeen when James Miller had a stroke and died. He was a friend of my father's and a preacher-guy. The last time our church had been that full was at the barbecue the weekend after the church was built. Somehow, the structure went…

a random thought

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They shake, shake, while mouths say the words.

A Rare Meteor Shower

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Now, as we sat on lawn chairs / on the balcony to watch the meteor shower

A Rave for "How the Sixties Ended"

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"At a bare minimum it deserves to be a major cult hit."

A Record of Wrongs

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A dead deer on the side of the road and the older boys not listening to her as they stab its eye with a stick.

A Record Setting Year

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it felt fucking awesome at that moment, in that way only little things can feel huge and life affirming

A Red We Hope Is Not Of Earth

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A Rejected Bone

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I offered you a piece of prose. You tell me it's just a bone. You say you're not impressed, you want nerves, muscles, flesh and ... It's solid, I retort, slick, shapely, ivoried. True, it's chipped, cracked and gnawed. Why is it so? you ask. …