Most read stories

That Which Does Not Kill You (Only Postpones The Inevitable)

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Harold Smithe awoke that Tuesday morning precisely at 6 am. He did this every day for as long as he could remember. Even on the weekends when his schedule varied. Well, varied slightly. He lay in bed trying to wake up and mulled over the things he needed to accomplish for…

Doctor My Eyes: The Ultimate Cataract Surgery Mix Tape

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Q: What's the best song to sing to your doc before cataract surgery? A: I Only Have Eyes For You

Bow Ties & Brooklyn Dressing

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collars of obedience / discarded in the pyre / with draft cards and bras

Restaurant Rondo

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Before she flushes the toilet the world is spinning.

What Kiss

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The women were increasing their writing in the restroom. I asked you later why women only talk on restroom walls, and you said, why do men only talk on restroom walls? I told you as much as I could remember of what had been written.

A Tale of Two Writers

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A famous author and an inspired writer meet at a coffee shop, both looking for inspiration. The patrons there don’t know if this meeting is by accident or design, but they are in awe of Fame.

On The Stoop

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The leaves were meaningless because they were no longer connected to the trees.

Asking an Accomplished Poet Friend to Read My Poetry in a Starbucks at 2PM on a Thursday

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Your usage of the English language / is awkward and passé—

Missed Connection

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You said it looked like I could use some dietary counseling and rolled your eyes. I was too tired to be a smart-ass and just smirked. If you'd like to offer advice in person, reply here.

Deadheading

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No matter how much he composes and prepares, he cannot override the electrical trigger in his brain. Something to do with the resonance of physical memory. It remembers amplitudes of current.

Black House

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I dreamt once a child’s drawing of a house all scribbly black crayon swayback roof crooked chimney. God, do you remember how cold it was that night?

Employee Review

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Resting bitch face strikes again.

Under the Drawbridge

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J;>8-<=

Shout to the dead

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All the years since, until this morning, I'd thought the actor was James Gregory.

tweaker

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my molars are dancing, tekka-tekking to the strung-out paint can groove of my heart.

the menace from prague

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...the dead have...communicated into the high tech microwave towers of modern Prague. And their messages now may mount to the stars, confusing millions.

Forerunner

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Morning time had come again. Kojo felt the beginning of the day, but couldn't know it yet. Awareness came first: the temperature of the room, the light behind his eyelids, how much of him could feel a draft. Then, before it was taken from him, he recalled the memory of a…

Greener Than Thou: Saving the Earth, One Smackdown At A Time

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Are you a hostile person who gets into trouble when you express your anger? Would you like to annoy the hell out of people and get away with it?

Rat Hunter

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We came to the dump at dusk to shoot rats.

Moon Talk

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moonbeams unrecognized language steadies my course

Snow in the Sandias

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If there was a God he was deaf in both ears, blind in both eyes and dumb.

Me. No, you. No, me.

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Sunset swoony love waves crash over me and I forget why I didn’t say yes sooner

The Party

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Mike poured vermouth over his Campari and ice. “Gotta say, you have the most amazing view up here.” “Thanks. It's great when I'm washing dishes.” “Yeah, and the view in your front room isn't bad either. This cocktail …

fake letters in reply

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I did do one nice thing for you

We All Fall Down

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I didn’t give her enough skin. The world will always hurt her.

Still

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Later

We Cannot Cross the River

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We cannot cross the river until it freezes. Bekker predicts January. For food we gather leaves, berries and roots from the thick forest behind the cabin. Suarez boils what we find into a revolting paste that we spoon into our mouths with dirty fingers.

What We Talk About When We Talk About Lasagna

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When we talked about the lasagna, we were, I see now, talking about different things. I.e., I was talking about lasagna, and you were talking about almost everything but. You weren't talking about the dry, burnt noodles or…

The Edge of the World

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I am far from home, wherever that is.

1888: Mrs. Sherwood

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Margaret will take her seven away from his raging Irish hammers slurry Saturday night honks smashing red eyes. They'll board a secret train countryside bound where they sing the songs of her own dead Mam who lived poor in the world but…