Most read stories

Hello and Thank You!

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She didn’t think of herself as an undesirable, no, she didn’t, but did find herself cowering in face of the presumed judgment of those around her. They had more money, more clout, more everything.

Good Morning

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Sleep never fades away quickly. It has to be shaken off, layer by layer, before reality can reach you. That is the way every morning works for me. There are some days when I will sit at the edge of my bed for almost an hour, shedding remnants of dreams

Hey Old Lady! Want To Buy A Reverse Mortgage?

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Facebook just hit me with an ad for coping with memory loss, probably because I just turned 63. As far as my favorite social media site is concerned, I am now an Old Lady. When I asked my Facebook pals who are also Seniors what kind of promotions have been turning up…

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—

A Look In the Mirror

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...That flash of horror as well as the lie that replaced it were mirrors of sorts and both told the truth.

Toad On Fire

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“I would like to keep my head, at least for a few more nights. Didn't you say we were gonna have sex one of these days? Isn't that in the manual?”

A College Town

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I Am the Poetic Kiss of Death

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My poems have appeared in four different publications; three have died shortly after they ran my stuff. Coincidence, or something more sinister?

Space Program

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Mercury and Gemini disappointed.

The Widow Teasdale and the Ineffable Warmth of Personal Services

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Her cash. It smelled like seven-dollar-a-quart gardenia perfume and cave aged cheese—like hope overgrown with mildew.

Mutterings

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That old woman's got to be senile or something. The other day she asked my daughter if I had a "thing about water." Sharon told her I didn't, but then came right in and asked me, "Mother, you got a thing about water?"

In Distress

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When a multinational big box furniture store opened just off the expressway outside the city selling all the same products at greatly reduced prices, they contemplated the possibility of closing their store.

When I Grow Up; Or, Why Teenagers Shouldn't Listen to Angst-Rock

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rockstar, moviestar, literary supernova – burning out before all the planets are declassified.

Center of the Universe

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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.

The Street Singer

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The Street singer gathers up his coins and counts to a hundred before The last string stops vibrating

Exit 30

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They meant no harm when they flooded farms in its swirls and eddies

Intro to Philosophy

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We now live in post-Postmodern Absurdist fear of course, says our smiling Prof. That’s the price we pay he tells us. . . .

Jouissance

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BECAUSE to fuck is an incidental REASON to be here

Rolls

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Nothing is ever hoarded in our house, everything is eaten.

Painting with Big Mama

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I still see Big Mama leaning over her garden to pick a zinnia to put in her still life. Her old pink slip, hanging diagonally a foot under her hiked up, ragged, stained dress, half covered by her paint smock, which matched her white, faux fur, bedroom sli

War Then

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They were just boys, the Nazis I mean, young in their twenties, not much older than my brother Cyril.

Five Million Yen: Chapter 5

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Then he took the tune out to Ben Clarone land. The horn was beautiful, if leaky. His fingers flew over the keys.

Martini

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She drinks a chocolate martini. I fold myself up and slide into her pocket.

Arrivals

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The poppers, the Viagra, the chorizo – all had been ordered and all had arrived.

Souvenirs

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It is a hot August night — the same kind you remember from that summer after high school graduation. A cool breeze blows in off the ocean, sweeping across the boardwalk just hard enough to dry the …

Drug Series # 19: Heroin

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Billie Holiday and I want a cup of coffee and they tell us to go fuck ourselves.

Letter to a Lost Friend

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I keep attempting to start a correspondence with people / but they end up not being interested in me, / either that or I scare them away / because I usually begin with: / “Well, my favorite philosopher is Hegel..."

I Was a Cat Once

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This is a 50-word story.

Wounded Animal Songbook

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I pull into the parking lot and see a group of roosters squawking and trying to overturn an ‘87 Pontiac Bonneville that's caught fire. They're pouring whiskey down their throats. They're weeping over a bag of economy sized frozen breast fillets.