Most read stories

The Yellow Room

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...the knives she laid out on the porch before her husband left her, washed and dried, set neatly by copper pennies.

The Clarity of Loss

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This year I did not markthe day of your death.I let it slip by in an afternoonfilled with music you'll never hear,words you'll never read,a chorus of voices raised in protestat the unwavering passage of time.I don't need a numberto know that you are gone.Since you went…

A Diminishing Verse on Diminishing Returns

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My banker said, "We've millions we can spare,

a nice girl is like powder

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I remember mad strong words out of a teenager, fresh from the shower without a blouse: First! He will be my age, period! He will be the first to walk me to my room as my fear crashes to earth, final, considered. And I will be the first to milk the w

In The Kitchen

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drips of blood vegetal

Life on TV

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The television volume softens in the shadows.

Daddy's Teeth

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At night, I wake up, and Daddy's in the bathroom with a hanger in his mouth....

Cow

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“He looks funny again,” the twins would say. “Cow looks funny, Mummy.”

Christmas

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My first girlfriend had blue Christmas lights strung on trees in front of her stone house. My family had all gone to bed. When midnight came, it was snowing.

Wax Off

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The time has come to scrape the wax from my menorah.

O'erleaping Ambition

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“Listen, Mother – you’re my ticket out of this burg and I’m not about to cash it in!”

B00bs

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They stride the earth of their own accord, knocking down bridges, buildings— obliterating whole towns with each pendulous swing...

Concubine on the Ginza Line

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so I tighten hands with my castaway and say/you failed to impress in your folded peacock dress

Chlorine Dream

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death spoke in a swimming pool in late june:

Black Bombers

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The missions never change:/ To plant a bed of fast-blooming/ Flowers of annihilation/ Across an unspecific plain.

Cogito Zero Sum

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When you encounter a body laying on the road, drive over it.

Howie Mandel

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We love the sparkling, speckless, spotless, spic-n-span, sanitary.

The Threshold of Unfinished Business

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Uh oh, the dry cleaning ticket

When Serpents Had Stairs

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Pombo had never exhibited such powers of concentration with elevators or with other escalators, the young girl confessed to the museum staff.

The Adventures of Tequila Kitty: Chapter Two: Confessions of a Crazy Cat Lady - by Aimee Hamel

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He took off his sombrero and playfully placed it on my head. “And really, don’t be upset. You’re fine. There’s nothing wrong with loving your cat.” He was right, there is nothing wrong with loving your cat. But there is something wrong with owning a di

Arcana Magi Bolt

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Sofia looked around and found herself at a boulevard. She could see the town exit ahead of her. The bike still lied on the ground.

Sweden 1958, I-IV

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didn't know how to do it just tried to squeeze on the teats didn't know I had to grab up on the udder and pull Unca Ole laughed

Air On The G String

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If love could only by heat be bound

~the scent of dead roses~

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i killed a poetic boy yesterday. the old ladies in theshadows swore at him when he was walking home proud ashell with a new pocketknife. they told him we dienext week so laugh like you got limes for balls. hecalled them drippy old vultures in his native tongue.they didn't…

Footnote

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Weddings, engagements etc.

"they"--inspired by Lynn Beighley's "Ten Amazing don't-miss writing prompts (especially number 6)!--(but I chose number 2--thank

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52. they hate the word hate

Pretending Veracity, History Winks

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Mosaics are a trick of the eye, seeming

Reverse Order

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Robert wants so badly after reading a book where a man wakes up as a bug to wake up as a bug. He researches the avenues of metamorphosis where science has been where it is going. He is disappointed that of all things science has turned into other things, none…

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 2

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A large crowd of students began to gather around the base of the building that housed the administrative offices, where my hearing was being held. The meeting room was up on the second floor.

3 short poems (2)

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Clear as my conscience may be, you still haunt me as the brown settles to black sit there and recommence as if nothing had ever happened, your hands conducting the orchestra of your purity.