Most read stories

Rooftop

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People crawling up out of the chimney, then onto the roof, then sliding down it and off over the edge disappearing from view.

I'm No Chickenshit

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Would a chickenshit leave her like I did yesterday?

DMV

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When you bring information, it does not arrive.

The Guerilla Drive-In

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“Don’t you wish it always ended that way? The right people fall in love? Romance leads to marriage? God, that was a great movie.”

Heartlong

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... reason never lies...

Badface Investigates - Being Naked

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I'm completely naked in an unheated basement, about 40 first year university students, most of them female, are staring at my ridiculous waif-like body.

Mark and Alan

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They knew every word. They knew EVERY word!

I Am Not A Careful Reader

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What's the weirdest thing you've ever used as a bookmark? I work in a library. I've seen that, and more.

Maze of Sound

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Beneath the crosshatch gazes of the satellites and above the maze of sound, seahorse clouds exhale a glaucoma haze before they are absorbed into surveillance footage

A Rich Future

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Also in development,/ the anatomically perfect robot/ pool boy and naughty maid,

Drive, you sd, for christ's sake

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This weekend was supposed to be about intellect and soul-mating, but, like all others, it's turned into body and longing. You sit in my passenger seat and I let you smoke in my wee car with the windows rolled down. We've come from a wedding, a fairy ring, a…

Internet Hole (an excerpt from Psychopomp)

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Seventeen-year cicadas are the sometimes-singers that surprise spring with the ugliest mouths of all.

Debtor's Prison

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You should have marked that territory like a conquistador, mounted him like an equestrian, left no what-ifs in your wake.

Certainty

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All I know about the futureis that every one alwaysgets to exactly where they are.

C.S.I. #14

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I had dreams of being permeated with the heat of Caramelized sisters. A declawed cat kept creeping along my apartment walls.

Burma

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Our mothers died in childbirth. Taken in by the village, our new mothers taught us to wave at the river boats, to sell our trinkets to tourists. They offered us coins of a foreign currency and little pathetic smiles. By nightfall, our fingers bled. Then came…

The Scarab

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He thought the scarab was bad luck. I knew too little about omens to argue.

A Body Divided, 1

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A Body Divided: Memoir 1 When I came back home, after coming down with polio, everything had changed for me. I'd been gone for forty-five long days and nights. But it was Halloween, a time very nearly sacred for children in the Midwest, and it broug

Ennui of Wings

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Does flight exhilarate the sparrows

My Favorite Breakfast

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When Mavis is satisfied that her new man and I have met her criteria, and at long last she goes, no one will stand between me and the relentless boredom of my own company.

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 13

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Creamcheese straightened out that spectacular yellow dress, tucking a fully exposed nipple back in under the material. She pulled down the hem of the dress, then strolled right into the Savoy like a wooden duck being pulled on a string, and headed straigh

A man with bleeding hands

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A man with bleeding hands at the back door of Out of the Closet this morning asked me for the bride and groom figurines at the top of my donation box

from Flatlander's Suite

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Under nervously flickering fluorescent lights / your name will grow / fed by the tongues of Those Who Never Leave

song of the dog: Degas

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With her head thrown back and mouth open she howls into the dark green night, letting her gloved hands droop like the front paws of a dog. A large orange corsage attached to the bosom of her gown. Around her thick neck, a ribbon of black velvet. Her p

Changing a Flat

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Dark, green grass covered the pasture like millions of tiny fingers swaying in the heat.

One Thousand Incarnations and One Thousand Deaths - Part I

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She heard mortar fire, whose percussive power rose above the tapping typewriter keys. A perspiration of terror broke on Loretta’s brow, under her arms. Then suddenly, the whistling of shells.

The Solipsist Suffers

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I can confirm nothing/ but impressions of the world// that appear beyond my/ body’s reach.

The Flute Player

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The man who plays his flute every day under the archway near Powell station is not very good. He never plays a real tune, just a series of random notes. There is no rhythm or melody either. In fact, it's not even a flute he…

When I Am Dead, Let Someone Tell Him Of My Suffering

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Susie watched the record, her mouth agape just slightly, the spinning vinyl unveiling the powerful sound of a voice she'd wanted to hear her whole life.

Honey

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Cellulite is legal to have, either way.