Most read stories

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

Grief Has No Welcome Garment

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Twice burned, it buries its graves.

First Blood

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...dogs snapping at the brush as it spins this way, that way, eluding the slavering jaws by a hairs breadth. The fox twists and rolls, tries every trick, every last desperate one.

What Memory Holds

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There's this sepia-toned photograph, which my mother gave me, of my brother and me when we were still both youngsters. In the picture my brother's dressed in a skimpy checked suit whose sleeves were already too short for him — on its way to becoming my

The poet. Pt. 3

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I think I remember now why people write poetry.

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…

A Safe Distance

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Poems, and Zebras

Goldfish

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The guy stretches out his arm as he rounds up the herd of ducks that only want to bob. He pulls down his sleeve over a heart tattoo, faded from being seen so many times. It’s a skinny sort of heart tattoo, an askew heart from where I stand, an arrow fro

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…

Crooning

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It was a lover’s dark. They had been talking for hours when daylight lost interest and had gone elsewhere for sport.

Air On The G String

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If love could only by heat be bound

Prince Charming

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They could have heard a pin drop in the car for the rest of the ride to her house, where she looked at him one last time and found nothing admirable, nothing memorable about him.

To Do List

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Throw them up there but try to make it look tidy. Try to become a little bit paranoid, just enough that you slightly overestimate how much they think of you at all.

The Fifth Snatch

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...oh shit...

The serious writer and her bush

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

GONE

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The box thuds at your feet: mug, plant, wedding photo, the 25-year pen.

Independence Day

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Not long ago, Owen the Second showed her a skull. He kept it in a brown cardboard box in the top of the closet. "My first wife," he said, and sneered, his lip bunching up around a scar just under his nose.

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

Out of the Question

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"Then why? Why?" she choked. "Why are you so... so mean to me?"

Sea Shell

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Useless.

SWAMPLANDS by Paul D. Brazill

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Elvis awoke in a cold, dank sweat, hungover from bourbon and bad dreams.

Take Out

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You're stupid drunk. And not feeling so good. You know you should stop doing this. But what else is there to do, especially since your brother went in? And now Roberto's gone to pick up his lady and left you alone, empty. Couldn't even drive you home. You don't…

Shredded

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"...you are a freak of nature..."

Failed Restaurants

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Their specialty is the roasted Australian hare, long ears intact, arranged on a bed of sassafras.

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…

The Red Slit

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Kitchen. sandwich. wife. daughter.

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

Hopper

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"Hey, man. All we represent to them, man, is somebody who needs a haircut."

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.

Too Fast to be Fat

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As it turns out, hypertravel is surprisingly slimming.