Most discussed stories

The Duende

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Now he took his guitar in hand, and at once he felt a strange fiery sensation rise from the soles of his feet, to the palms of his hands, to the tips of his fingers: the Duende. It was that mystical force poets can sense, and no philosopher can explain.

Winyah Bay

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Effie reckons the river her sister keeps asking about, the Great Pee Dee, was named after some Indians.

Duluth Harbor

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"And yet she always went on writing, even when nobody cared if she did or not: if she stopped, she told an imaginary prosecutor in her diary, 'I will not have earned death.' "

Prisoners (edited)

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This cell the sole certainty, all else steeped in mystery. Why should we be here?

Phantom Energy

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She called it phantom energy. She said it was costing us money every month. A few cents here and there, sure, but it all added up.

Tongue / Giddy

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A delicate thrill buzzed my face.

Feets You Fail Me

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San Bruno avenue, six shops in eight blocks. Those Vietnamese ladies thrive on the pedicure trade.

Rio, 1946

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Now his daughter was an American citizen and Max wanted only the chance to board the SS Maua and disembark in New York.

Phone Call

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I could call him. And be done with this waiting but I refused. I wanted him to not forget me first. To bring himself to remember me first before I'd give him the pleasure of my company.

After the Hoopla

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It is imperfect,/ eroded by the optics// of light, space/ and orbital mechanics.

There There There

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i hear the boom boom boom in the room room room

The bamboo stick

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I no longer go for walks without my bamboo stick. Tightly held in my hand, thin and light, it beats the invisible particles which try to land on me and bite. My face is hidden as in shame under a rough gag, my hands are getting rusty, missing the touch of other hands. My…

Conversations with my brother

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Maybe it takes as much fortitude To forget As it does To remember.

Picturing Utrillo

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Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.

Suite

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but most times/ it’s just improvisation// with phrases of unknown origin/ swirling in my head

Carapace

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He gathers our abusive fathers, our esophageal tears, our peanut fetuses.

Sideburns

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. . . quit being so rigid, open up to the pasta.

ORPHANS

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They wait for me every morningthese two furry four legged catswhen they hear my car,their eyes open wide and they nuzzle each otherin anticipationof the food I bring them

77 Words About Nothing (Triad)

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My mind has started to finish thoughts at 77 Words. These are just a few.

Metastasis

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I am eternal/ as long as the power holds

love poem for the homeless man who was killed on wednesday night

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it was your hands—caked with years-old clay & quaking from too much solitude

The Duke of Travel

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...he had that same grin, better than a racy French picture.

Catherine

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Love free of independence is a savage, hungry beast Phantoms grasping, sweating, gasping 'till her mind could not be freed

Lonely Hearts

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He didn't hide it. He told her he was a mortician when he called. He had responded to her ad in the Lonely Hearts section of the newspaper.

maybe, in winter

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I will wrap up in quilts that still smell of summer sun

I'm a Man of Few Words

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Of only there were more like you, I wouldn't be changing careers. And my drawings would still be in magazines, instead of on strange people's rears.

Oh, Clyde. I must be your Bonnie.

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This is the best kind of crime scene. Spattered like gore from gunshots, I'm left covered in trace evidence.

Witness

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The violin hung on the wall after that, a witness.

Footnote

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Weddings, engagements etc.

Jukebox

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Once a psychologist told me a story