Most read stories

Where's Waldo?

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Over his usual ham sandwich and Pepsi for lunch Uncle Waldo used to often say, “Going out in the dead of night without a flashlight is dangerous” and I'd nod but I kept slipping out, sneaking down my secret path and take a dip in the rich neighbor's pool because…

Riverfront

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"My Chi felt stimulated."

I Ain't Your Kissin' Cousin - song

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I ain’t your kissing cousin That’s pretty plain to see Baby, keep your pretty lips Far away from me I ain’t your kissing cousin That’s pretty plain to see You’re really very pretty Come kiss me and we’ll see We don’t live in a barnyard

Victor Krowchuck Gets Dressed

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He puts on a choir of prepositions, 142 adjectives, 317 ramifications of cotton... and 177 semicolons engorged with cabbage.

Godfrey part 2: Marjory's bag

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"when I say bag, what I mean to say is…"

All Seeing

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Our Core Values define evil as the concealment of information. And those who conceal information are evil.

Read Me

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I won’t be eating much anyway if someone doesn’t start reading me. I’ve got to get a hook so people will be drawn to my work. I’ve got a few concepts I’d like to share with you. See what you think.

NEWS

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Truman sits in his car on an early Tuesday morning. He rolls down both front windows down, but despite the infusion of fresh air, the car still smells of stale meat and sickness.

Happy Birthday... Mr. President

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Her dress swirled around her as she stepped into the ballroom, looking every bit as sultry as her recent Playboy cover...

SMALL THINGS

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I held at my gut and immediately regretted laughing at Frank when he pulled the pocket-knife out on me. I doubled over and fell to the floor. "John, was a typer all this important?" Frank asked, knife in hand.

chicken little considers the sky again

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oh, sure i’m still running around like a heads-up/off/prophet/profit/fit trying to cut off my very own de/(con)instruction and all other sordid a•void•able & available/a-Babel towers of post &toastmodern doom/daze

Hail to the Pres: Celebrating Lester Young's Birthday

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At a time when jazz had its share of royalty–kings, dukes, and counts–Young was democratically elected the President by an aristocratic vote of one; the best jazz singer alive, his sometime lover Billie Holiday.

Rowdy

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Flash’s hackles stood brushlike but he kept his head bowed just enough beneath the bigger dog’s stare to delay the inevitable fight. Flash, Mal thought approvingly, would pick the time and place.

My dark job history

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Sometime in the late 60s when I was thirteen I had this paper route for the San Mateo Times.

The Missing Years

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Andrew smiled at her while he pulled out his penis. He then held it between his fingers and tugged at it, stretching it much like a rubber band

Black Bombers

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

The Judas Horse

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Mark dressed the velvet red Stetson, too big for his head, like a dandy. A six year old savior with fringe on his pockets flapping as he, the ‘Judas horse’ led me ’round back

A Christmas Story

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Two days before Christmas 1946, my mother put me on an Illinois Central railroad train at the whistle stop of Neoga, Illinois.

Monolith

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She seems to be demanding someone donate to her a beard. No one has gone any further with this, and the electricity of her song about beards, listing, growing more undulant, crescendos.

The Jig is up

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The next time I woke up there were several guns pointed at me. I opened my eyes to see my mom and dad watching as the local cops arrested me.

Black Hole Me

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my fingers vibrate magnetic/ a humming void/ where my brain was

Dead End

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She'd still rest her fingers on your back, and her smile still lit the lantern of your soul.

Bukowski

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that guy/ MOSTLY understood / endings

White Legs

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...lotus roots carved with clunky holes like a mouse’s drawing of Swiss cheese.

Not by Choice but Circumstance

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With small and fleshy hands/ I scratch at enigmatic stones,

OUT

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All I wanted was to love her.

the cold the day left

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in our teens as tough as the cold/we wore denim and flannel with our boots/kicking at whichever wind blew . . .

The Agreement

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Our Irish tradition is rich in Yeats, drenched in Bushmills.

For the Wives

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She parks the car and trudges insidefor her daily visithoping that the new rouge hidesthe old tears.Five years now she has been comingto see himHe looks nothing like the pictures toanyone but her.They say she should go homeand rest, relaxShe doesn't know how…

Fidelity

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The night before leaving, we have French toast and red wine in Matthew's kitchen, our packs and sleeping bags and tents surrounding us, looming like golems. Because we're nervous, and a little drunk, the conversation inevitably turns to grammar. "I'm sure I learned…