Most discussed stories

The curtain

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In the evening the curtain recounts its day. Faces, images, incidents it has observed from the window. Its voice is nuanced, modulated, quivering, for it is made of lace. It appears to crochet its words with needle sounds. My eyes, during confinement, are not wide open, not…

The Dog by the River

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I am seven years old today and I want the dog by the river, the one with the great mane of hair like my father's who is a singer at night, and with big ears, too, that grow from the top of its head so that I can tug on them if it's being bad or stroke them…

Ah'd love to kiss ya

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“What was the line in the movie Dad?...

Bodies Approaching Rest

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He hates this body no less now/ than he did at 14 for its pudginess/ and the hair that can’t conform

Incompetent Translation: Le Bateau ivre

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At five o’clock in the afternoon, at five o’clock / in the afternoon

Texturality

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A.The poem of rational progression is dulling.Make the leap. Go beyond juxtaposition to collision.We like poetry that does double duty, triple duty, quadruple duty. We like poetry that mixes the grit, poetry that has the texture of complexity.Reason asserts an…

The poplar

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Sometimes we hurt ourselves, we scratch ourselves, we bleed — for a simple joy... All I wanted to do was to find the poplar again — the tree of my young arms, of my budding breasts. My fingers used to circle around its bold and vigorous waist, but in the…

Lesson 38

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You have a house (plural, as in Spain)

Redeye Rabbit

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I knew it was just a matter of time...

In the Path of Mary

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She walks ahead, dropping matches as she goes. Grassland is consumed by flames and when I arrive all is wasted.

Shoot

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Dear Brandon Lee: I know that you're dead and can't respond to letters, but I've always felt a connection to you.

The Gospel According to Teeny

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Then I heard it -- a sound like an oboe being strangled. Teeny was farting onto the cement stoop through her jeans, a tripple flutter blast.

Passing Past

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No one means to go that way, on an errand to the mall....

Illicit

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... a moth, a kiss. A silence.

3 Kids

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There he was, naked and covered in green mud

Balloon Seller

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...painted by my mother with meticulous attention...

Small Change

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Life seemed okay…for the most part.

Weight

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We flew./ In my dreams, I can fly.

Seasonality

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... and August's drought/ will yellow lawns, singe the shrubs,/ and amplify cicada song.

clouded

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a current forecast

Shits and Crazies- a Pas de Deux

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Anson Chi/ tried to kill my wife

Trees Today

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are my only real friends. They don't seem to mind my shuffling down the dirty sidewalks without acknowledging their mere scraggly presences like friendly tombstones. They are growing their hair out again. I've noticed that much. We've got a…

Serving

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patience is....

The Haunted Coins

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(I woke once from a bad dream to throw them from the drawer, but my hands were so clammy, the coins stuck to my hand! I had to scrape them off my palm on the edge of the table.)

Forgive Me, Leonard Cohen

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There’s a price / on everything

The Photograph

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But if he's been photographing her for almost thirty years, there must be close to 11,000 images. During the session, they don't speak. And, after so long, words are not really necessary.

Four from “Autobiographies”

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The white space beckons-/ a blank wall in a decrepit neighborhood-/ wishing to be decorated or defiled

Little Tech Puppies In the Artisan Beer Hall

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Little tech puppies, well compensated for code/ that outsourced laborers will realize in supercheap,/ superchipped gewgaws, sip artisan beers

On the Bench (Matthew III)

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turn your face

Throwing Pencils

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I can never tell if he’s drunk or using some sort of substance or if perhaps his brain just doesn’t fire at the pace that we have come to accept as normal.