Most read stories

Never Trust A Thief

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His looks were polished like his shoes, his hair as black. No one would have guessed he made his living as a thief.

Snowed-in March Against the Beautiful Pain Memory of Love, A Ghazal

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Infinite patience, tempered glass hearts—is this what it takes? / Shatterproof backtrack, slow march through reversals—too, what it takes.

A Record Setting Year

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it felt fucking awesome at that moment, in that way only little things can feel huge and life affirming

Sometimes, an audience of one is enough

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not of time, but of all the clocks/ that tick along toward the end/ of all the possibilities.

How To Write a Poem

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an EZ How to Guide in 50 simple steps

Booming

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"I want more grandchildren to spoil," the woman said. Will took a swig of beer at such moments. Maxine only answered with “someday” and looked over toward her husband. She knew it was his fault, didn’t really know why, but blamed him anyway.

Mumbles

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We bobbed and weaved using our words like the sniffs of two unfamiliar dogs in a Wal-mart parking lot. Wary, but sensing we could be more than just polite neighbors, once we got past the normal darkness of strangers. There was no plot to our story yet, but we both seemed to…

Desire

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She said “I have to go”, he answered with his eyes “Don't” and they stepped closer to each other in the kitchen, a step on the tiled floor, the remnants of their tea cold on the counter top.

Shim

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better than being dead

blind

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what world is this?

The Hound - Part 4

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My gaze could have gutted any man. Any man, but John Marcy. History would write that John Marcy was a traitor to his country. Public enemy number one in the state of New York. When that probably couldn’t be farther from the truth.

We're Still Here

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

After

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The next week, she sends a small white box in the mail / with tissue paper, a ceramic mold the color of bleached bone—

Carousel Horses

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From this distance, he reminded me of a sleazy pink flamingo, waiting for feeding time at the zoo to deepen the timbre of his feathers and hint at the promise of a narcotic aviation before his commune of hens.

The Invisible Woman

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"She saw they were absorbed in making faces at each other with a smartphone app that enlarged a mouth."

Crazy Eyes

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The kid with a testosterone chip Instead of a brain

Only Temporary

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It was the middle of May when I found out my teacher was screwing my mother.

A Scalar Boson a Day

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. . . the empiricism of the mechanical had wound tight into her, lessons her few calendars could never impart without aid from sundials, hourglasses, clocks.

Fear in a Handful of Dust

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I fear my personal information travels the World Wide Web/ and mad Ukrainians will steal my name and wealth./ I fear the fiscal cliff and raising the ceiling on national debt./ I fear a death by taxes.

Untitled

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I assume the shape of a pronoun.

Cobbler's Clinch

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“If Sir would observe, the storm welt, a shoe for the big occasion, a shoe that will guide sir through the dismal passages, a shoe that will roar in the face of adversity and …”

Hubbled

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The nearsighted world/ puts on its lenses

boring

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You don't want to knowthe details of my lifethe gossipthe boring moments strung togetheracross the lap ofmy sense of responsibilityit drives methrough the daysdoing this and thatchore, check on the listi am tired and need to stop for a drinkand then, i am filled up for a…

Arcana Magi Cross: Kame's Song

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The waves assisted in pushing him forward, until he reached the dry sand. He saw a small resort town ahead. The lights were out in the businesses and homes.

Excerpts from 'Dispatches from the Front: My Life in NE Portland—diary by JENA RACHEL ROCKWELL (year 08)'

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I'm getting self-righteous here, Dear Reader . . . [hey! wait a second! this is my diary! what are you doing, looking at it, dude! Hit the road! Scram! Vamoose!]

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.

Kate

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It’s that laugh of hers that gets me...

Just the Facts

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skin cancer walks along Zuma beach at noon

Tractors

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Beneath their feet bedrock stretched a hundred miles

Fuck Yeah America

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After sportscasters announced the assassination and while the reverberations of the words were still fading people were already shouting