Most discussed stories

From 'Upwards, into the White Eye Rising (Section 3)'

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A fractured world we haunt: the streets, the schoolyards- Across the floodlit roads, where we shared drunk adonics: No marbled halls but towers that stole the stars' eyes- Flat-roofed serrations against…

Digging Up Bones

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So I'm digging, clawing the black earth, disappearing in its ore and shadow.

Bedtime Stories

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I want to read a story that ends unhappily ever after: one where the bad guy wins and no one gets the girl.

At the Farrah Fawcett Wing of the Smithsonian

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I hope some of my students will go on to advanced studies in Charlie’s Angelsology, maybe write a master’s thesis like “Kate Jackson: Third Wheel or Brunette Glue That Held the Angels Together?”

How to travel with your Demons (4)

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I also understand if you don't think that's fair. But consider this: If she doesn't operate according to those rules, then where are we? Isn't that anarchy?

War Then

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They were just boys, the Nazis I mean, young in their twenties, not much older than my brother Cyril.

gravelortian part 4

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rinse plate cup glass spoon bowl soapy water

How Things Fall Apart

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The leaves/ seek reunion with the ground// and leave the oak tree naked/ in December’s cold.

Anhedonia (excerpt)

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Things have happened. It’s a given. What, are you crazy? Of course things have happened. It’s the world, for Christ’s sake. Things are happening. I am consistently missing most, if not all, of them.

Loop

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At night, I watch TV shows with fictional characters who lead my life.

Ponies

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“The moon is a monk,” you said.

Blonde on Blonde

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Happens at a party, this way, past frat boys perched in branches like idiot hoot owls,

The Model & The Artist

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I advertised in the local paper for a model.

AUTUMN LEAVES UNDERFOOT

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Goodbye comes in stages. At first you recognize that you will “miss” someone when they are gone. Then you have to accept the fact that they are leaving. And finally accept the fact that they are gone; and not particularly in that order. If only it

The Ringlet: Part II

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Ashford Garth Willingsham IV stood looking out at the Gulf of Mexico from his mansion on Longboat Key. In his right hand was a letter from his divorce lawyer, Reynard Foxx...

Hitler's Mustache

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“Where do you want your mustache?” Melanie asked. “You can have it on the side, you know, or, if you prefer, across your labia, in which case it will also look like a cross?”

The Congregation Next Door

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When Carlton Hanks bought the house on the corner of Annunciation and General Pershing, right next to St. Anthony’s Catholic Church, he believed that he’d live in peace.

The Yolk

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It's a house of eggs.

Klout

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while you peed on that little old lady's begonias

There Is No Glass

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I'm a heathen in the church of the absolute.

Emotional Gentrification - excerpt Single Stroke Seven

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Sunday, Nolan and I drop by the ice rink on 10th and Alma to watch the amateur hockey leagues battle it out in an unspoken yet assumed class war: the buff, unemployed rink bums who can grind ice, cross-check, and stick handle like the pros, versus the dou

Pool

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“That pool will be the death of me.”Which Dad said at least a couple of times a week. Ten times the week after he'd read the TXU bill.“Goddamn pump, and that twitchy little Polaris. We should fill that pool with dirt and plant some trees and Asian…

Now Lay in It

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The phone rang again at midnight. Maury sat straight up in bed, a reflex from his days in the barracks. Linda, his wife, was already sitting up. In the hint of moonlight, she dabbed her nose with a wadded tissue and made helpless little noises. Maury…

Dial Tone

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I am asking for something as simple as water. In an oak tree, weeping, a child climbed too high. Tears that the barkstain will never wash clear. O love. We ask far too much when we fall. In a momentary lapsus, the words…

Nathaniel

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sometimes i have to be in the other room just so i can breathe easy away from you.

A Day in the Life of a Nutcracker Ticket Scalper

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Talk about the Nutcracker–my nuts are cracking from the cold cause it’s freezin’ out here! But a guy’s gotta make a buck, and scalpin’ ballet tickets in sub-zero weather pays the bills.

Moving Out

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Lying in the blissful glow of young television. Idly sleeping, eyes open and ears closed.

The Edge of Night

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The night wrapped its arms around us as we drove west, taking the highway past Medford towards Philly. The kids were asleep in the backseat and we were both counting the mile markers, staring out the windows with quiet eyes. I listened to the drone of the…

B.U.N.N.I.

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Then I see her walking down the grass aisle: my assignment. She looks nothing like the image I have been trained with, but her identifier is strong.

My Glass is Waiting

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The trouble with alarm clocks is naturally that they are miserable. And their curse is that their misery is useful: we employ them because we want to get away from them. But we would never have one as a friend.