Most read stories

Small Budget Poems

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Toxins make a body happy/ as if acceleration toward// an end of consciousness/ is its own reward.

Ireland

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Ireland - her beauty is like a drug.

Song of Another Country

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And she warms her hands on fresh-cut gizzards, And he forgets the taste of honeyed peaches

Portrait of a Sunday Afternoon

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Your grandmother has gotten old, in that way where one day you wake up, and you realize that someone you've been looking at your whole life suddenly looks different. That hands which used to gently place band-aids on scraped knees are…

Sed-a-give

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The way she once felt for another, naked mornings in her bed, and Young Frankenstein. Sed-a-give.

Twin Lakes of Whiskey

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not that we ever had before

a writer's plight.

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contact. intimacy. human fucking connection.

Robert, The Architect

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Robert Townsend had planned his suicide for ten years, and on July 10th, 2010 he took a long, hot shower to set the mood.

Arcana Magi Pure Vol.2 - c.3

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Ahead, she heard voices. She approached very slowly, as quiet as possible. She knelt behind a pair of shrubs and peeked through a small opening.

Full

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The trash is full. Again. I open the bathroom trash—because the diaper genie is stuffed—but there’s no room. I try the kitchen next. The lid swings open, catapulting carrot shavings onto the floor. I lay the diaper on the counter for later.

Gemini

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Not many people like Geminis.

Cogito Zero Sum

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

Indulgence

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I crave the confines of the convent

One of Four

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She stood with her sisters, pretty maids in a row, felt cold despite the scorching spring sun. Heard what the man said but didn’t register; words from the Lord flew around her like the flighty trill of the robins up above. The birds made more sense.

Sewing the Labyrinth

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If girls have keys for fingers then locks cannot hold them.

Camp #7

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One afternoon the kids from next door come over. Marion is our age, Jimmy a year younger. Marion's pretty. I can't even look at her.

At the Fair

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You're on the Ferris wheel, and the wind is blowing just a little bit, and the sky is invisible behind a wash of white clouds, and your little yellow box tips when you look down, down to the fairway swinging. In the boxes below grandmothers are shrieking …

The Threshold of Unfinished Business

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Uh oh, the dry cleaning ticket

And the fucking black dress.

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The fucking black dress; the fucking black dress that obfuscates whether or not you're pretty in the face, that obfuscates the sound of your voice, that obfuscates the color of your hair, your eyez, your skin,

Why We're Going to Eat Uncle John's Suicide for Breakfast, Tomorrow

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[Party!]

An association game with the word 'guilt' (or how (not) to die inside)

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The past operates with incredible gravity. Powerful, efficient, deceptive. Thin, sleek cords sent out by it attach themselves to your back, your legs, your buttocks, the back of your head. Resist. Walk. One leg after another. Easy does it, like a baby. Do

Believing Everything I Read In Your Upturned Eyes

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It doesn't have to be force grown betweenus. We entwine naturally. It's agood feeling to have a friend who at oncedoesn't require a hothouse ceiling laidbetween each invisible touch. There's justwind. There's just rain. There's just sun. There's just you.There's just…

Chlorine Dream

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death spoke in a swimming pool in late june:

A Case of Mo Yan Blues

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my speech/ in Oslo.

The Red Suitcase: (Conclusion)

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—You must be joking, he laughed.

Confederates

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I knew I spoke out of turn when I asked my father's old friend Charlie Jobe what he thought would come of moving to the veterans' camp, or "Village of the Deranged", as the newspaper has since taken to calling it. That was their description after all the

On Socks

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There’s a hole in my sock, just large enough that my big toe keeps slipping out.

Adios

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After seventeen years of struggling to wake up early in the morning, I had managed to wake up on my own. Actually, I think it was because I was unable to sleep that I was up so early. I had laid on the bed all night, staring at the dark ceiling, taking in every…

We call them the Removal Men

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They came early and parked up, under cover of the night and the giant oak. I only know this because people told me afterwards. Watching us, they were. It was six o'clock before they smashed their way in, scaring the three of us out of our wits. Baby Billy screamed the place…

Occasional cloud

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And she tried to laugh, to justify her half evasion, to dismiss the memory of their vitriolic breakfast conversation.