Most discussed stories

The House Flounder

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Spackle. Spackle is always the answer.

show the soul its own beauty

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Go ahead, show the soul its own beauty. But also tell me again about my own, so I may know I lived, and loved you. The one who shows the soul its own touching beauty gets to keep her. Who shows her the golden nightly song that's given us life, is like t

On Unpredictability

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All that have changed in me, I give to you now.

"No lights shine out tonight high hung in heaven"

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(From Postcards fom a Railway Station (final poem)) No lights shine out tonight high hung in heaven: And the constellations like a dead man fall. No sight of polar eyes, whose sons are seven, And I stand unthinking and beyond it all I own it all a…

Redux

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Is that who we are as a nation, or was that day an aberration?

Not finding you

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Had this been a film, I’d have seen you at once. Extreme close-up: my finger on the green button that opens the door to the park. Long shot: my leaving my bike at the entrance. Slow shot: my walking down the narrow stone path.

The Judger

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Better not hand me that iPhone. I'll look up every damned thing in it.

Cherry Almond Streusel Cake

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Tomorrow we will eat it in anger.

The Back Burner

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Below them, the clag shears open in irregular patches, the lights of Seattle resolving themselves through the thinning overcast then vanishing again by turns.

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 38

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—Francesco, I wish you would give up smoking, said Michiko.

Three Network News Ledes on the Death of Jimmy Buffet

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“He spent four lonely days in a brown L.A. haze, and now Jimmy Buffet is dead.” —Brian Williams, NBC Nightly News “Jimmy Buffet—beloved parrot-head singer-songwriter—has given up his search for that lost shaker of salt. He…

sediment

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I'm re-invented on Main St. every single day.

All Else Stopped

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it seemed odd from even the first few seconds.

The Mutes

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She was deaf, but he was not; they both could sign.

13 cyborg poets

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1. Lost in the Vision Matrix, J0hn Clare transmitted a distress signal designed to be audible only to himself.2. T S El10t ran on a complex algorithm that produced seemingly fragmentary results. However, if you run Imagewise an underlying order appears.3. C0ler1dge suffered…

Peach

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"What's that smell?" Osama glares at me from the front seat of the Trans Am. "What smell?" I say. "You smell like a diaper. Are you wearing a diaper?" Osama and Peach both laugh at me. "No... maybe, its my Baby Soft perfume. Is it too strong?"

Some Nature Haiku

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The proud, burly tree / Rests on the now crashed TV / Thanks a lot, nature

The Sound Invisible

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“Behold!” cried the Lord, on a late September morning,

Jelly Doughnuts (from The New Yorker)

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Simmi's only been in New York three weeks, but the second night she was here Buck took her to a coffee place he knew, and now Simmi makes sure he takes her there every night...

How To Laugh and Be Happy When Not Drinking

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That is the question, not to be or not to be Life, death, whether to be, all that is superfluous in the face of laughter and how to achieve it under extraordinary circumstances like not drinking anymore I’m afraid not all the alcoh

Myrtle Beach Daze

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He started plucking at my back like it was a banjo. Lucky for me, he was no Earl Scruggs. My virtue was safe with my Earl. We would have been there until the Second Coming, my bra still safely fastened, if I'd have stuck around.

A Spark and a Flash

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Butchie was the one who heard about the bonfire happening over on Harrison Avenue.

The Here Here Here Lately

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electron metastasis

Momma's Elephant

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...she had marked the stars with a blue pen, connected the dots to make Andromeda, Cassiopeia, told us of the gods behind the stars...

The Passing of a Hero

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"...and time came hurtling behind him, gripped his shoulder/ jumped clean over him like a buck goat/ the world aged but he did not/ he spent his afternoons in an old car with fake leather seats/ drank cold beer under the olive trees/ or lay in a hammock/

Rain Song

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Feelin’, feelin’ good, down-fallin’ down/rain, rain, rain came today,/wet alfresco alchemy

Remembering Ginsberg

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Remembering Ginsberg who howled through just about everybody's idea of the real weirdo poet

match point

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two roses her eyes aqua-blue no, blue-green

At the Juvenile Bubonic Plague Telethon

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We’re not like a lot of your fly-by-night disease-based charities. Every pence we raise goes directly to St. Bartholomew’s, where 90% of it ends up in the pockets of doctors so they can buy expensive horses.

Please, tell me of the smell of the moon

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Do you know first hiss of batter hitting groundnut oil in a shallow pan, I ask, on a morning after a long, dream-ridden sleep?