Most discussed stories

Mind Your Inspiration

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Be careful when you choose your muse, for she may be a siren.

I Go Gentle On You

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Prozac, Lithium, shock treatment, a time machine, or to ask Oz that you grow a new heart, whatever it takes.

Arcade

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My father owned a penny arcade. I worked for him every summer all during my youth. My job was to hand green tickets to customers who achieved a certain score on Skee-Ball or shuffleboard. The coupons could be redeemed for merchandise which we had on display on…

Thirty Word Stories

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When Uncle Bob got sent to the Alzheimer's ward, the ladies licked their lips.

The Cicada's Complaint

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Shiva and Zeus convene a focus group. “It wouldn’t work,” the panel votes. “Those leaf eaters would strip the trees and crops if we let them come back every year.” “That’s true,” Jehovah reasons. “Remember that plague of locusts I sent down?”

Wipe Your Feet

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I recognized the smile. It was a “I’ve got you where I want you now,” smile.

He knows better

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It’s time to let her go.

Watering

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“Sometimes when I feel the urge to create, I don’t know whether to grab my paints, my camera, my guitar or my pen.” “You could have sex,” her friend, sitting in the desk next to hers, joked.

Johnny Dangerously

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An old man, a widower; living alone, defenseless. It was a given.

Pirate

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When I got out I didn't buy a new suit of clothes, step into a bar, or bargain for an hour with a whore.

Lessons in Insomnia

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It’ll all make sense when you're sitting on an éclair chaise longue by the morning pool of coffee.

Latitude Adjustment

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Down South now means August cold snap, the forties roaring my wool cap off my head.

Fa La La La La

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A pinprick breaks the black/ and pins the spin of constellations/ around its still point.

Boom! You're Smithereens

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Bruno Hackmann and I hung out all summer, and then Joe came back from Persia.

Geisha Doll

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I imagined cool, wet clay oozing between my fingers when I'd squeeze a tight fistful.

eclipse

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the moon is coming back now the shadow hovering and shiftingthe clouds a passing shroud I didn't know if I would be patient enough but now the sliver of light is increasing filling in / filling out the circle I am surprised by how much relief I feel there…

circles, the round

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and skirts, lovely batiks, swirl around your ankles

Shoe Lace

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Is this a place to show posterity and mortality?

"Changes" Isn't Just A David Bowie Song

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Erin Hoffmeyer Zulkoski. I was at work today, doodling on a piece of scrap paper. I often find myself writing my name, practicing my signature, for when I become famous. I have always written "Erin Zulkoski." Today, I wrote "Erin Hoffmeyer." This…

A Martyr

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I've written of this and I've written of that, Have scriven as you have it either that or this: But if you strive against the wind when you decide to piss, They say, you'll find up firing against your hat- Like some old Brother who was broiled when…

Vivian

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When her husband left she was not yet thirty

I Don't Know What I might say

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But it all works out. I guess. Truth is something I'm sure I've never seen before, but the more time goes on, the Less I'm inclined to believe in it. Still I don't want To be one of those giving the finger to God And begging for a showdown with an…

Rock-a-Hoola

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She wears a green and pink bikini and walks real slow, poking her chest out so people will notice her.

Hats for Houses

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It is certain. The roofs are hats for the houses because you wear a hat in the rain or the snow or even and sometimes especially the sun. The houses are curious. They keep their hats on at night. The downspouts for run-off water are strands of hair such as…

Another "Accidental" Tryst

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She smacked his back a couple of times with the flat of her hand

Resurrection - A Sonnet (for Valentine's Day Massacre challenge)

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Mounds of earth and grassless ground

The Last Thing

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The last thing I remember is falling below the water, lungs filling with liquid.

Napomo 17: April 25 - 30

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As air warms and warm/ winds stir, green becomes the force/ that surges the plains.

Spinning Walt Whitman

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In San Francisco, there rides at night a phantom streetcar whose driver is none other than Walt Whitman . . .

Your Boredoms

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Your boredoms are not my fascinations. Your boredoms Belong to the ice caves with the Mammoths, Although haven't they been tortured enough by the Changing winds? Your boredoms are far from twinkling Objects in the beaks of ancient crows,…