Most read stories

Winter's Presence 2010

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A short triangular plastic shovels into the/White plastic container filled with topaz crystal-like/Salt granulars. Scratchy sandy sounds echo.

yapping and laughing and living

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I can't take it bird by bird because I have neither.

The Rug

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Marge bought the rug on-line.

Write power

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Write power like a purring kitten eyes wide without an idea of exactly how small he is.

Above the River's Edge

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On the plains there are no cliffs, no vast mountain ranges to persuade us that we were somewhere above the world. Yearning to escape the pull of the Earth was the big dream of a plains boy…

It's Next Door

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The old lady from next door had been really quiet for the last few days.

Reciprocation

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"I have a prehensile tongue," he said matter-of-factly. "I know how to make you feel good." Such confidence, I say. Prove it.We're sitting on the couch, watching a movie, but not paying attention to it. We sit side-by-side, my leaning into him, and his arm is around me,…

The Judge's Wife Part 10

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The Judge waited for the perfect wave.

Alarming Apples

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I struck up a conversation with the cricket. We talked about Super Nintendo and cookies and we fell asleep on the boulder. The next morning, I woke up and offered the cricket a donut. He enjoyed the donut thoroughly...

A Conversation With a Ghost

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This must never get out in the press, for it would cause widespread panic. The priests would surround my house, not to mention the police and possibly the army. Castor Desayuno has come back from the dead!

What If?

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“Can you adopt if you work for the circus?” I asked her

12.22.12

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No jagged bits of crust were thrust up/ through the prairie’s black gumbo/ to give us cataclysmic mountain views.

Arcana Magi Memorial Vol.3 - c.1

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It was like Azure was dictating the tempo of a song. Fluid in motion, and a story told.

Consider the Living

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we're not at war / with the world. We have papers.

Genealogy

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You are an heiress to drunks. The statues of your forefathers stagger, memorialized by gravity, their faces half-lit eternally, as they reach into refrigerators for another something to keep away the cold empty.

A College Town

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A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte

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A woman is fishing in the Seine at the far left of the painting, while time is suspended and light remains. One man plays a trumpet. A half dozen people sit or walk under parasols. Couples stroll and children run or sit or stand beside their p

Nearly Lost

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My body feels chilly but it's not from the outside temps. It seems to me it's the opposite of a fever.

Diplomatic Relations

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I fully intend to show Hamilton the delights of soft Oriental carpeting and a delicious new position I learned not long ago. It involves a silk scarf, a leather strap and some aromatic herbs.

Bearing Witness

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I hold them to the light...

Rwanda Suite: Gasoline

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I realize the kid is still smoking. Shocked, I tear the cigarette from his mouth, throw it to the earth, and grind it to death with the heel of my boot.

Ruptured, Weeps the Hole: The End (ELECTRIC DELIRIUM 10)

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She dips a toothpick in ink, running prick over paper, simply to prove herself wrong.

" I Know Bernie, I Can Get You In."

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* Dedicated to Bernie MaddoffThere was a long line at the men's room.You know,when men reach a certain age,there is an urgencyto their frequent trips.So I saw an opportunityI said:" I know Bernie I can get you in.""Really?," they saidbut I played it coy"It ain't easyBernie…

Paper White

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With each step, that cold hand steals ever upward.

The Mojave Desert Remembers Ron Paul

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The Mojave Desert remembers Ron Paul With tattered billboards Scraped and clawed by vehement dust

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 37

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—Frank, how is your sex life?

Versus

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She vs her.

Jammin' On Duane Street

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I have cherished the memory of that meal since and have sought out Indian restaurants all over the world. San later told me that the best Indian food was to be had in London

Dancing on the Rhythm Bus–One Night after Leaving The Pyramid Club, 1991

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The next day I can’t recall at all, a waste, like the flash of twenty years of my life, faces that pass you like comets in some erogenous unnamed zone of night, but they got me in some isolation room with my wrists in leather restraints.

Supply and Demand

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There are 1.45 million readers of poetry in the US and 2.9 million poets. The odds of an audience are bad.