Most discussed stories

Trio

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With green and silent industry, the plants/ convert our shit to fiber, food and breath.

Paperclip

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The Americans don't want us. They want knowledge. They want to eat with us. They want technology and weapons. They want the results of research they themselves are too craven to perform, answers to questions they ask themselves in whispers, in the dark. T

The Winner

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i never much liked Elvis never did then never do now he was no Kris Kristofferson

The Conversation

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Listening is loving. What is more erotic than these fathoms, skeins, words, roping tight the ardent ear.

Yesterday

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played-out

Note to Vera Wang

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Vera Wang I saw you on Oprah today girl. Oh no no no.

Never Been Down to Lonely Street

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“This is not turning out to be a wholesome project,” my brother hissed into the phone one night. “Yo, Alan, it’s ELVIS. It’s American gothic, and the child needs to know the underbelly of the myth,” I hissed back.“Did you, or did you not, wear makeup to

In Due Time

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Almost every weekend I'd ask Henry to go out with me and Marge, telling him we could double and, hey, maybe he could bring Ellen, who he dated a while back, who still asked about him. I'd suggest such things as going to a movie or out for a few drinks to reminisce about our…

American Birthdays

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Cherry was America's least favorite pie. Her mother made it every year for her father's birthday because "daddy doesn't like cake." America had to wash the bowls, the wooden spoon, the plates and finally the Pyrex dish. Her brother got to "contribute" by climbing the tree…

Kilz

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He flipped through a book of poems Ani’d given me. Nothing fell out so he tore it in two. I said his mama must notta read to this one and one of the older cops laughed and he hit me.

At the End of the World There Will Only Be Renegade Lovers

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I didn't believe in hiding secrets or broken arrows. So I told my new girlfriend, who in earnest, tried shedding pounds like ugly memories, who glued herself to my shag carpet, watching exerise videos--that I didn't sleep alone. I tried to be as sensitive as possible,…

Three.

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I spent our years together being someone you'd approve, and all

The Passed Away

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Died is forever. Passed away/ Is ambiguous. Dead isn’t/ polite.

Lisa Duncan's Mom

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Lisa Duncan's mom was puffy, and you could always see part of her breasts.

Turtle Summer

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He was her summer fling, the first cock to crow when the sun rose over her tequila smile.

Long Sticks Are Often Useful

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It was just lying there by the side of the road next to a mailbox, pockets turned out, weeds kinda rolled flat around it. I counted three nickels, a dime, and a cigar butt too. I could sure use the change for gum, but I didn't want to get near it. It looked dead,…

Becoming

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Ego bereft of consistency Betrays a heart hungering to toll. Unable to trust its will Or harbor imaginary gods, It gains a hold melding into a role whose proven viability Can give convincing cover To buy time to fabricate An identity that feels unique, Yet…

An Earnest Prayer

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It’s like faith. My battle buddy is out there, I know it, but I can’t see him, nor can I hear him. I just know he’s there, trusting he’ll do what he’s supposed to do, and he’s trusting in me.

The Ogontz Branch

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There are stories I will not tell, stories I shudder / to remember. You'll forgive me for withholding them from you. / You may, of course, not tell me everything about yourself either

Cinderella's Lament

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My name is Wanda McClure and I lived in the foothills of Eastern Kentucky. A small town miles off the interchange, and mostly in the middle of nowhere. I lived in a trailer. I was 52 years old.

wild gesticulations below a jasmine moon

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After Prometheus

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His method is simple...

If Blake had only known

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Everything is bound to change like / a damsel to the tracks.

Plastic Jesus in an Upright Tub

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Me and Dale chuck rocks at it.

Good Help Is Hard to Find

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Some of them are notorious tweakers. Nobody epitomizes the cowboy-outlaw biker more than the ironworkers, who are wired on Black Beauties they sell on breaks.

Blue Moon

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I suppose it was inevitable, This crashing of souls, This recognition of possibility to create. If we were younger, We would make a baby, The ultimate act of faith. Now it has to be something else, Nothing to force a track with night feedings, …

Brucey

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I kept my seat. Passengers packed in the aisle weren't moving and until they were, neither was I.

Her Own Age

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He had a country house, she said, but it was near the city. She said the house was about as old as he was and she loved it— from the wood-framed windows to the heavy wood doors... to the garden on the side of the house

A Journey of Seven Thousand Miles

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The taste of / what is denied us is always sweet

Static

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The days cut off by damp chill with every thought a different variety of protection.