Most discussed stories

Oed is Dead

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I COULD always sleep. Go "home" now and sleep. My body and my fetus—who complain of this torture—would appreciate sleep. I have something to do that is not sleep. I have something to do that is not sleep. I have to try to wake.

Various War Stories

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War Stories #1The Germans didn't like that theJews had such beautiful women.War Stories#2There must have been a war between the good witches and the bad witches. It's the only thing that would account for such troubling times.Woman With Yellow HatWhy did…

Obituary

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I won't fail at this like trying to fix a leaking sink without mud grease or washers tinier than Cheerios.

When To Break Up With Your Gynecologist

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He asked what I used for birth control and I told him, “prayer”. He smiled the kind of smile you smile at young girls who don’t know any better.

The Brazen Bull

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History is replete with brutally imaginative techniques of torture and execution, but I am the only death machine that doubles as a musical instrument.

Hummingbird hearts in a breadbox

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We married in the ruins of a pachinko hall, the tiny bones in the pocket of your tracksuit luring a pack of wild dogs out from the underpass.

Listen To Our Birds

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We know a poem isn't going to stop you From invading our town. It won't get you to Listen to our birds any more than to our Sunsets. That's not why we do it. We know A poem isn't going to break the blade of Your knife like an…

No Flowers in June

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Of flowers there Are none In June No sun Upon my cheek The gentle breeze Stirs me not The smiles They cloud my vision Birds they Sing their songs But I hear Them not When tears Rain down My heaven.

Poleward

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We hit the road, headed west.

Harpoon

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he’s recognizable in the earliest images of misery: a hand shoving a young gladiator before the lion; the fire devouring a witch in Salem. And here he is. Again.

Perfect Lady

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I want to write a story about a woman who lies to men about her height.

The King's Largesse

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This little town lost its mill...

Three New Poems

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Letter(s)The sky set itself on fire, butit really didn't make a whole lot of difference. Birdsknew not to worry any more thanusual. Trees thought and made the mostof their landscapes as a way ofbeing modern and yet timeless. It's onlypeople who suffer from too much…

Specimen Subterranean: A Review

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. . . the greater length of the so-called “Montebaldi Corridor” can still be walked without the least exposure to direct sunlight as long as the traveler is not active from 9 am to 3 pm local time.

Silence

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I let go of my properties, my work.

In Mimetic Sympathy with the Dark Core of the Galaxy

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It renders the inner ears inoperative-/ Music that once reverberated inside 
/ the brain-hut concert hall squeaks

Night Moves

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I could trust that most nights I would drop off to sleep at around midnight and shortly thereafter dream an “us dream”, a how we were dream, a sensing of our bodies undulating, then moving faster, moving with the waves of a special music only we could hear, with…

The River Flows

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powerless against the memory of the earth-bank and the river flows, through a susurrus field of a million quills

The Clairvoyant Dwarf, The Jester, and the Tame Elk of Prague

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All were part of the household of Court Astronomer Tycho Brahe (1546-1601) who lost his nose in a duel as a student and went through life thereafter wearing a gold prosthetic one instead and who met and fell in love with a commoner who bore him eigh

Miss Havisham's Fire

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. . . catching her breath somewhere between ecstasy and surprise. . .

Roadkill

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I It's been there all week, Nose tucked into tail Comfort found between impact and asphalt II I'm still here logged out, still here Had it with the billboards the check engine light milemarkers... Just…

How to Pass among Mortals

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Take no form or face beautiful enough to cause warfare, or that which would provoke inanimate objects to song. If a tree wishes to flower in your presence, request that this happen very slowly.

Family

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For instance, my sister's husband. If I say brown socks, yellow boxer shorts, fishnet undershirt. If I say plastic bag and two tepid beers. And a voice that glides to falsetto when he: you're a tad too obscene for my taste, Julia, while he tries to light the filter end of…

Wuthering Heights: 21st C Remix (Anti-love version)

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That Bronte woman had me painted like Eminem’s Stan Or a droog from Kubrick

Chinese Whispers (or Telephone)

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The Cure for Cancer

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Thus, more people can drown// and leave their bones

Moon collar

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I don't think dogs like to die with the pack. The smell of them rotting brings trouble in the wild,

Soft Voices

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soft voices singing somewhere in the black back of rising tensions crashing with the waves...

Trees on Fields

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Dear Jackknife Ponderosa, I'm stupid. Let's move on. Let's move past the part where I complain, where I struggle with circumstance, where I display my petty arms, and shoot holes in the air. …

Thursday

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I will die in Paris on a rainy day.