Most discussed stories

Pirate

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When I got out I didn't buya new suit of clothes, stepinto a bar, or bargainfor an hour with a whore.I walked from McGee Streetover to Russell and wonderedif Bus 16 still went out of its wayto loop around the traffic knotat the shopping mall. It'd drop you thereif you had…

Letter to Neruda

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You have been my woman’s lover now for seven years, ever since your two souls met at La Isla Negra.

You Should Change at Jamaica

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"...across from me staring at my bare knees."

Z Machine

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I'm afraid to find out what my spirit animal is

A Coin, Two Coins

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It hangs unspoken in the sadness he pushes through his harmonica, while his hands work the old, beat-up guitar that tries to be a Gibson for his fingertips.

Need

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I knew I needed to visit a beach / made entirely of sharks’ teeth

Old Photo, 1948 or so

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I’m maybe only four. Not smoking cigarettes found in street gutters yet. That will come the next year, when I’m five. Maybe when I’m six, and Andy’s five, my pal from across the street. That’s my tricycle parked behind this pack of kids that look to be ne

The Ungrateful Dead and the Human Resource Recovery and Refineries Act

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Incidents intensified. The Dead appeared in twos and threes at shopping mall and Wal-Mart parking lots.

Familiar Things

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After lunch I left my office and trickled along like a slow leak, a notch above meandering; gravity had become a lateral force that pulled me forward.

Ceali

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The man's dog slipped away one night. He left soon after.

You Wear Camo?

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Got me a 50 pound bat ray.

Remember the Maine

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He remembered waking up on those lazy summer days hearing the sad song of mourning doves.

Tree voices (revised)

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Shhhhhhh

Not Tired

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Three hours isn't that long.

This Story Isn't About You

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"This story isn’t about you, even if it seems as though it is."

Wedding

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It was cold in the church. The Lutherans were freezing to death. The Catholics brought their winter coats.

The Invitation

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The poet could not speak of himself but only of the gradations leading toward him and away. ~ Mark Strand

Cymbals Guy

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cymbals guy — another way of saying hey turdshitface haul your skinnyass to the front of the bus.

Another Dream

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“I fly in my dreams,” his mother said. “It's my privilege.”

Where's Waldo?

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Over his usual ham sandwich and skim milk for lunch Uncle Waldo used to always say, “Going out in the dead of night without a flashlight is dangerous.” But I knew what I was doing. After dark, I'd slip out and sneaker on down the path to take a dip in a…

Stupid's Rising Up

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Stupid's rising up, I see. Melting all the intellect. I before E, except after C, but that's not how the alphabet goes.

At the Faire

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Carl and Dolly were actors. Dolly was offered the lead in a porno film, but she turned it down.

The Assassination of Sadat

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Just beyond the corkscrew slide / the President of Egypt was bleeding to death

My Great Sensitivity

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I'm mucked now for sure. No one's going to discover my difficult poems in a locked away desk drawer somewhere after the dying fact. I remember how it feels to be knocked out by someone standing next to me in a simple white dress. This…

my father's fear

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my father has a phobia of dentists./ he also once felt/ that if the house ran out of toilet paper/ he would lose his job.

Hoops

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Backs in the grass, legs straight, bare feet resting at angles, Rachel and I, both of us seven, looked up through the oak limbs that made black lightning cracks across a blinding blue sky. Three hula hoops sat trapped in the trees’ sprawled grasp.

Oh, Little Bird, You Send Me

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Who are all these rough looking people, hanging over me, itching me with their shaggy grapevines for arms? Like twisting, dangling down painted cloth Gargoyles on a quickly coming apart dried up rope? It's always been the same old perch to view from. You wanted to know…

1999, what I wanted

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Last night in the shower, I felt only vaguely aware that something in me had changed.

Free Magic Lessons

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" No honest poet can ever feel quite sure of the permanent value of what he has written: he may have wasted his time and messed up his life for nothing."--T.S. EliotI think, okay now I know, the poem's starting to wear off. But I'm alive, at least…

Catholics

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Sundays after Mass, Sister Edburga gathered the team in the shower room, we stripped naked in a circle, held hands and said a prayer we’d win our game. A boy no one knew walked alongside her with a box full of jockstraps.