Most read stories

Submission guidelines

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Somewhere in her the name triggers/ a grainy chain of Cheech & Chong

Power Ballad (Revised)

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Everyone else in the bar was looking everywhere else: it was as though they were alone while Journey played loudly all around. “Streetlights, people,” she sang. Time didn't move. What she must be like while driving, singing to herself with the windows fog

Last Visit to the Toy Store

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The two walked around, taking in all the classics: the imported Russian matryoshka dolls of varying styles and bright colors; spinning tops, red Radio Flyer wagons, kaleidoscopes, and wooden yo-yo's invoked memories of Christmases past. The hand-stitched

A Poet in a Coffeeshop in the Motherfucking Nineties

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Look at her. She doesn't want to be here. The kiss and “wouldn't miss it for the world” was as empty as her crossed arms, crossed legs, and jittery foot were loaded. She attacked the foam of her latte with a tiny red straw. I wanted to scream. Complain about the…

Woman On A Bicycle

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And the ocean was black and green and blue—as your dress that clung to your body’s curve. Round as the bend of the water trailing the false line of the shore.

Call Me Naked

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[He] practiced aromatherapy and licentiousness, in no particular order.

The Piano Player’s Dead Rejoice

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Requires one of those leaps.

You deserve to be choked around your lying throat and this how it happens, slowly.

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Writing as a form of imaginative hatred

Pretend

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SOME NIGHTS

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Some nights you really feel it.

Late Night Learning

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A wrinkled man lie atop an ivory-clad mattress, matched sheets covered his body, matched hair covered his head.

The Arrival

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Everybody knew it would happen. It didn’t happen exactly when or how they thought it would, but nonetheless it happened. “I told you it would happen,” a bearded man told his wife.

Sacrifice

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They rise up, a sullen, sorrowful/ army of reproach, staring,// stone-faced but eyed with fire.

Now

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‘Miguel! A pint of Guinness, please!' I might as well have asked for his mother's immortal soul. A smile as benign as a stiletto. But he served a clean and tidy pint.

The Fourth Prague Defenestration: 13

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The next thing we knew, the KGB started tailing us everywhere we went. They must have heard about Lenin’s Paintings, was all we could figure. Because, what if they were real? That night we went out to a pizza place where we saw the worst graffiti in t

The Tale of Pregnant Tinkerbelle

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Everyone was shocked when they heard Tinkerbelle was six days gone and had got so heavy she couldn't fly. Who could have done it, everyone asked, but Tinkerbelle wasn't telling. So no one knew. That isn't true. I knew, and in this Declaration I swear I will tell…

Malady

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When the malady struck and the world fell dark at noon, she and I groped the walls and found our front door. Outside, bewildered, we heard the whine of jets in free-fall, explosions in the imagined distance. And we heard a car — or was it a truck that veered…

Still Crazy After All These Years

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Dr. van Roos reminded the group that trauma is trauma...

John Bonham

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There is an empty space, between every note in rock 'n' roll, where they have buried John Bonham,

Receding Haiku

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love weaves a perforated web between the spikes of longing

Lonely Hearts

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He didn't hide it. He told her he was a mortician when he called. He had responded to her ad in the Lonely Hearts section of the newspaper.

O'Arlo's Journal: About Myself

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Every morning if I don't have to go potty....

When the Time Has Passed to Do Good

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Both his parents saved their pent up Puritan pasts to fill his ears with brimstone clichés. "Idle time is the devil's playground", he would tell me, scrunching up his face, stuffing it full of meat lovers pizza.

Modest Proposal

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It could be fun,/ with the guns, explosives, Molotov/ Cocktails and all,

Marriage

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A cult is one thing; it defies common sense that a commonly educated person cannot escape cultist thinking and belonging. That cult, A.A., is girded by police, fire, therapy, hospitals, insurance companies, and courts.

Boardroom Bullshit

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Push the envelope

The Dirt

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The coffin-sized pit in his basement wasn’t freshly dug.

The serious writer and her bush

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The serious writer looks back on a long and distinguished career as an herbologist.

Cinnamon Doughnuts and a Neenish Tart

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Mr Robertson chuckled gently as he caught the aroma of freshly cooked cinnamon doughnuts and watched the oil leave its fingerprints.

Snatch (6)

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"What?"