Most read stories

Game Night

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We’re all competitive and drunk.

Considering the Mailman

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It’s not just the mailman. It’s the logo on the mailbox down the street. It’s the uniform. It’s any man or woman in the whole unsettling profession.

Wild Dreams of Reality, 7

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7 We sat in Darrell's truck in the deserted silent world of the down-trodden industrial area of West Berkeley, where no one in his right mind went at five in the morning. "Put the gun away, Darrell," I said. "I mean it." "I can't help but keep

Say Uncle

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People were just doing it. Doing it everywhere. On lawn chairs and stray patio cushions and watching. Watching every one do it.

Lost Dream

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It’s a song you knew once, begin to remember now: You’ve had this dream before.

Coins

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“Have you ever thought what stars are made of?” “No,” he said. The man nodded seriously. “I hadn’t either. Not until I met the Star Catcher. He told me all the stars in the universe are actually coins. Coins! Big coins. Small coins. Different colors

The Goldsmith's Anniversary

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He searched for something deserving of the word “bestowed,” something so rare as to horrify the clerics of ordinariness.

HOMESTEADING

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She had loved sleeping in Todd’s arms at night, hearing the soft tinkle of crystal above her when cool drafts moved through the house, his hand wandering over the swell of her belly.

The Nudist Camp at the End of the Rainbow

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What did they even invent clothing for? I asked.

Truth Or Consequence - 4

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"When we say something is good, beautiful, pious, or brave, what idea or image do we hold in our mind?"

Museo Libo

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He'd tend the door himself in high lace up boots, orange rhinestone hot pants, a tight black t-shirt, and black boa with orange swirl.

Undressing The Moon

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the white moon is dangling by a thread tonight you close your eyes and listen to it undress and suppress, suppress you listen to it undress while you yourself hang lifeless in your own arms not meaning to do yourself any harm, not

Layers

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"... Sometimes I think I'm so close to knowing what it's all about, to knowing myself, and then sometimes everything seems so hopeless, as if I haven't learned a thing."

Flashes

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The thunder rolled like an old Bob Dylan tour...

Helmet

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The tiles begin inching toward him as soon as he moves. You've seen filings on glass. He's the magnet on the underside.

When Dreams Come Knocking

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“What are you doing after this?” I asked, faking a self confidence I didn’t truly posses at fifteen. I didn’t seem to realize that I wasn’t old enough for any of the clubs they’d go to. I’d heard that fans sometimes followed the band to an after-party.

The New World

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And so we conquered.

Dublin

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My swinging purse sent saucers tinkling to the tile and the copper-headed waitress flew over, swooping on the shatter, clutching clean forks like a handful of flowers.

Flamingos

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Over fifty plastic flamingos stood silently at attention... as if eating sea urchins out of our lawn.

Hemingway On Trash Day

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The morning sun rose up over the flat prairie, and the powdery snow crunched as you walked on it, and the air was so crisp it hurt as you took a breath. That is good, I thought. That is how you knew you were alive, and I was truly very alive, and there was not much to do so…

Postman

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About 10 years ago is when it started. I was 14, sitting at Pop's knee, listening to his stories, and Mom came in crying. She could hardly get words out. I think that day was the last time I felt the sun.

Dragon Lady

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What happened later that evening is unclear. When Mickey got back to his quarters, he was in good spirits. Buoyant even.

Wipe Your Feet

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

The Argument

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"What mouths could not say, hands did."

Dream Girl

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There was something wrong with this picture. Was he the man she had slept with last night?

The Bridge

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The Bridge Barstow had not wanted to listen to Griff. Griff was not making the right decisions, or he thought Griff was not making the right decisions. Thought he was walking a…

Snapshot

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Behind them all, in the background, a tray of vodka tonics waits on a glass table, the limes losing color as they drown.

juvenile haiku

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leaves of a season/float into a brook among/bubbles fit to burst.

Me & Sylvia Plath

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The parallels have become too numerous, and too striking, to ignore.

Wasps' Nest

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Here’s how you do it. First you get a ladder, a long one.