Most read stories

Myra's Mother

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Smoking is like hooking up with an ex-girlfriend: you know she's bad for you and that it won't work out, but it feels so familiar and comfortable and so easy to slide back into.

Do I hear Ten Thousand?

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I cannot begin to list all the ways this conversation can go downhill from here, so I hang up the phone quietly.

THE SONGBIRD AND ME

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“Tell me again,” you whisper softly, “about the songbird.”

When a Bastard Stares at the Sun

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The sun is going to slice your goddamn face open.

Dishwasher

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Last night aliens invaded our dishwasher.

Absence

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Her mouth was sour; her forehead was still damp with perspiration. She leaned against the bathroom wall and noted her complexion had gone pale. She wanted to slide down the wall and rest until she felt steadier, but…

The Introduction

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Lucy looked up, smiled and said mine had a head that looked like a mushroom. I suppose she was right. We were sitting on the floor drawing naked bodies for our anatomy lesson and teasing each other about our lack of drawing talent. We were new friends, having met when…

10 Keys

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Let’s play a game. I’m thinking of a word. Do we have to?

Superlative Land

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You are walking through a canyon made of shelving units lined with colorful masterpieces of three-dimensional minimalist design

A Delicate and Ancient Art

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He was a sushi chef, and he would spend hours in their kitchen practicing his knife skills, and the speed with which he can put that there and this in that and so on; and she would see him on the floor most mornings, still wearing that dirty, tattered ban

Bosch's Last Words

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I / go my / way alone

the difference between child-dread and grown-up-dread is the paycheck keeps the tears away

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the first day of preschool/ my mother walked me down the street/ to a tall building that cut/ like a knife made of bricks/ right into the street,/ an american flag/ sticking straight out/ just above the door.

Snatch (6)

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"What?"

Salt

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I imagined the crystals in my mouth. Salt flowers blooming on my tongue.

Vienna

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I remember thinking the seasons are arriving later every year, as if the world has been slowed by the weight of graves.

Forging

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Taken by agents of the United States of America, Felix Six-Killer grows up at the Carlisle Indian School near Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love. His hair is cut and oiled. His shirts are starched and creased. For months he is startled to find himself seated for…

Why I like My Watches Analog

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watch/ the second hand sweep

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…

Final Score: Reality – 1; Desire – 0

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His velvet mouth, shaped perfectly to intertwine with hers, teases the space between them until its caress finds her.

Receding Haiku

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love weaves a perforated web between the spikes of longing

A Safe Distance

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Poems, and Zebras

The Good Boy

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I blinked the darkness out of my eyes and saw the man again; I could smell his breath. Just like dad’s. I must have fallen asleep. My eyes felt so heavy. I was cold. Why was I cold?

Sacred

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"What the fuck are you looking at, Carl?" She snaps, turning her head toward me as the truck edges off the road and into a field of tobacco, into those broad green leaves of ancient sacristy and modern ablution. This is not a blissful kind of field. It is not full…

Sex Coma

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If you were the ozone, I’d want to leave you gaping.

Darkroom Tech

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Entering that darkroom is like slipping through the barrel of a rifle.

Leda and the Swan: Paul Gauguin

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Leda looks back over her shoulder at us as the swan grips her from behind while at the same time nipping at the nape of her neck. She's a freckled child and a little frightened. There's a dark smudge beneath her eye where the shadow runs. The swan

Archaeological Treasures Yet to Come

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The museum’s catalog description changed much less than the painting over those years. He wasn’t curator-in-chief of catalog descriptions, however, that task went to a curator arriving by another door.

Every time we kiss, my hair falls out

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I’m in high leather boots; I’m talking many dead cows here and I respect that

Not If, But When

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She tells me I have to face the fact that I have the heart of the Tin Man. I know the story. He had none. She is very sensitive and I have to measure my remarks because words bruise her so easily. So, I…

FLY AWAY

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Why is the sky grey he asked meI don't know, I saysudden flashes of light snowbloat the cloudssea gulls are squawkingexpect them to peck at my headI have nothing to feed them