Most discussed stories

Handy in a Denny's Parking Lot

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A compliment is candy to the heartbroken, oxygen to a suffocating flame. The best hunter picks his prey carefully, selecting his line like an archer pulling an arrow from a quiver, quickly and efficiently, then flick! the line cuts through the air and…

Untitled

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the colors of the night

The Commodore

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The commodore drives a 67 Caddy rag top All fin and boatish power

The End of Février

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She got the day wrong. It was one of her usual mistakes, getting the day wrong. A Wednes for a Tues. Or a 5th for a 6th. Sometimes it took her until afternoon to realize it. Which probably meant that it didn’t make much of a difference anyway.

In Memoriam

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...even unbelieving prayer muttered with quiet resigned breaths can not foretell or forestall stains...

The Man From the Circus

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‘Last week,’ I said, ‘on the radio, there was a competition. The DJ played a sound-bite of a car going over a cattle grid, and people had to phone in to guess which cattle grid it was. I didn’t phone in, but I knew the answer.’

Deliberate Music

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My emulations always fail. At heart,/ I don’t want bougainvillea nor blushing pilgrims

The Day Nixon Died

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"I remember thinking, 'Good.'

Librarians! What Are We Hiding?

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Librarians are hiding something. What is it?

When you were nine

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When you were nine your head fell off in the playground. Dr Mort was called. He pasted it back on with PVA glue. You'd never know now.——When you were nine your arms turned into trees. Dr Mort worked his magic with the chainsaw. You still need light pruning once…

Street Parking

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“Everything is neon, “ I say.

Distance

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We must sometimes see the world/ as the pale blue dot// surrounded by brighter dots/ and that endless field of darkest dark.

Stories in the Dirt

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I walk back home, alone and without the bus fare. Distancing myself from the shadows that float interminably against the drowsy sun. Where frightened boys often roam, going in circles against the long lines of epitaphs and gravestones. Puzzling…

Imminent Weather, Five AM

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The spectacle of weather/ on the prairies approaches.

observations on an autumn day

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macho bucks in velvet defy you driving down the lane

SEA BIRDS

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They frequent the open oceanbut not on this daythis day is dark and dank after aheavy rainstormI wait for them to come back tothe waterthey don't comeI wonder where they hide duringthe stormthe gulls don't fit in tree holesso where, where are they?

Denial

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Then for a few seconds, maybe even a minute or two, we wallow in a sensual shower of raw emotion. Our defenses are nonexistent and we are overwhelmed with care and gratitude. Suddenly, we love our enemies and are willing to forgive our trespassers.

a face made of glass

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Napomo 17: April 19 – 24

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There are no inspirations./ There are only the things I like/ and the much more numerous// things I do not like.

Walking with the Moon

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I heard a voice. It was calling me as from a far-off cloud. I listened, holding my breath, and heard it again, though fading away, barely audible. If I hadn't known my name I wouldn't have decrypted it. Three hazy syllables clearly detached with a sigh between each of them.…

Losing Found Things

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Last-minute women notice me and latch on, converging in narcotized spirals, old sunflowers twisting towards a fake light. Ugly, used up people, turning like dirty snow, terrified of facing the sunlight alone, of the hour long drunken drive home.

The Olivetti, the Bomb, and Why I Got My Degree in Economics

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The revolution. It found me, and I didn’t even get blown by the bomb.

Agra Road

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Beyond a jade gate, a lotus pillar nods to / a braided fort.

Working Girls

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In the summer when it's light out later it's my nature to linger a couple of hours in the park after work, just standing around watching the Downtown Divas working the corner, offering themselves to each male driver who stops for the light and I always joke with them about…

Do the Shogun Moon

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Heel to toe, our bunions are our ingrown medals.

Wish for the Left Hand

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Hardly a soul could pin him for creating the vehemence that found a streamule to her pen if she wrote in cursive or a fanjet to her keyboard if she typed quickly and satisfyingly in print, employing eight fingers and two thumbs—

Baked Beans

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mundane tradition

Podcast?

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I enjoyed the talking part though rambling on and on for lord knows why or how

universal placeholder

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ambiguity of lightning

Tracks

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When dogs run free