Most read stories

Farm

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Still as the knife on the counter there still. Like mothballs in a chest. One with clear bags and newspaper clippings and your scarf inside it. The baby girl could put a mothball in her mouth and suck it like a penny. The way too close to a light bulb bur

Funhouse

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beatings and tear gas

Mythologies of Self

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We lie sleepless at night, enraged,/ and finger the keyboard

more horrid haiku

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a mere forty years/and maybe you become twelve,/maybe sixty-three.

ghosts

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conflicts in time

The Tale Of Brave Grinelda

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Once upon a time in the days of old There lived a poor tailor who- I am told- Did brag that his daughter Spun straw into gold!

Root Causes

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 …

chicken coup

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" I have no idea what's goin on out here, and I'm gonna find out one way or another."

she has one of those names that only a southern girl could pull off

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“But I don't HAVE an accent,” she said. With an accent. “Tell him I don't have an accent, y'all.” Looking from one friend to another. Messy ponytail bouncing. I just stared. I may have blinked. A couple times. Every syllable…

Make Music, Not Love

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We are/no more than heartbeats on repeat.

Arcana Magi Pure Vol.3 - c.3

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Mayumi and her friends arrived at the beach. The sun was near setting for the night, and a few stars began an early peek in the twilit sky.

Who's There?

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The old man sat in the run-down shack, nursing his lobol-weed tea, and cursing the bitter cold wind outside.

Texas Spleen

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Can we survive our Y chromosome?

The Assistant

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The Assistant is lost again in a grid city. Again she feels disconnected from the world. Where she is the sound has been switched off.

We're Still Here

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the beeps, rhythmic, tell us that you're still with us

The Monolingual’s Regret

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Polylinguists lash me with tongues I cannot conjugate

Beneath the Light of an Exploding City

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Under the darkness of their new city. The heave and moan of structures as they breathed and pulsed. Under the darkness of this city, under the hum of their florescent bulbs and the tumbling rattle of motorcars, the wheeze of their machines and the clank o

ROLLING LIKE THUNDER

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The ocean smelled like decomposed plant life and clinically despicable vagina, but I still spoke of its power and my fear of it in moonlit clichés and she still listened.

Monsieur, Monsieur, Nous Avon Pamplemousse!

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He came running out of his narrow little shop, Berthillon and chased me down the Ilse St. Louis street, saying, “Monsieur, Monsieur, nous avon pamplemousse! It’s ici, Monsieur. Your pamplemousse. They just come in this matin, morning and I’

A Catalogue of Ways to Die at Sea

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Quimby’s eyes lit up. “Oh, lads, there must be a thousan’ ways to die at sea! I’ve made th’ Atlantic passage a good many time; lemme recount some manners of death I’ve witnessed with mine own eyes.”

A Dream Lay In Wait

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Roanne hungered. Memory had ruled her forever. Shards really, edged like machetes: daddy, whose fingers had eyes in the dark. Momma, ensconced in the shadows. Inside the church, those pairs of short…

The Concord of This Discord

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-Love is a rushing of blood

After: An All American, Post 9-11 Love Poem

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After he got on one knee, and she said, I do. After they watched the televised bombs disappear the city. After everyone fell asleep. After shock and awe, him and her making love…

Small Snow Haiku.

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A small snow.

Arcana Magi Zero + Pure - c.1

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A Nocturne, whose grey mana seeped out of it mouth, grabbed the roof of the building with its large claws. Using it as leverage, it stood itself up, hunched over, its long whale like head roared like a loud horn.

How To Write a Poem

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an EZ How to Guide in 50 simple steps

Monday

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The door shuts slowly to something that’s allegedly mine and it sits there and waits until I come home just like you.

New in Town

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He had a handsome dial tone, we called him every name but his.

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 37

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—Frank, how is your sex life?

A Little Load of Paint

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Cézanne sags during a moment of paint. There is an umbrella in the room whose surface collects his thoughts. Outside, in the rain, the grass and garden smell strongly of spring. Fruit litters the table. Light through the window writhes in conversation with shape and…