Most read stories

The Ghosts in the Meeting

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No one had told the newer tenants that the dead would be given votes, and they were in an uproar: it wasn’t legal; it wasn’t fair; it was creepy.

One Nil

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Each step you take on the pitchEach mile driven downEach closed exit of highway Blocked avenues of importanceBoarded up HammeredNailed shutPeople and places and things You can't get to anymoreThe knife and the needle The black and the…

Love Me Like It's Midnight

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We are young That’s all we’ve got We take drugs We smoke pot You got mugged And I got shot We are young That’s all we’ve got I want you to love me like it’s midnight Midnight, midnight Yeah, your mama wants you home But she knows

ace in the hole

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hookers are better educated these days

The Ghosts of History

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In this lab, where I work 40 hours a week, live the ghosts of questions asked.

Chickens

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“Easter’s coming,” my wife says. “Should I dress as a bunny or a chicken?” she asks. She means for the costume party.

Honesty

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Bill decided he hated his neighbors on a Sunday morning in June.

For Refrigerator Poets, Verse Builds Bodies and Minds

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"Thanks for the wild sex--let me know if you have any problems with the lint trap."

On The Stoop

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

Road to Nowhere

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I could smell a bold combination of cheap perfume, stale smoke, and sex excreting from her weathered pores. The bus engine hummed as we climbed a winding road. She scratched her neck and tried to finger comb through her knotted hair. I caught a glimpse of

My Literary Pockets

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I don’t know what to do with all this money flowing from my books. It’s burning a hole in my literary pocket.

Asshole

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This guy struts and never walks, and while doing so he reads and sends text messages and emails from his smart phone and so never walks in a straight line.

Animal Shadows

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One day when they were sitting on the curb together at 4th Street and Mendocino Avenue in Santa Rosa and Joe was calling out to passers by in a singsong voice, “Spare change for cigs,” she had persuaded them that they should try to join the circus.

The Paintings at Lascaux

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Essences of bull and bison,// stag and horse, illuminate/ the stony underground.

Jouissance

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BECAUSE to fuck is an incidental REASON to be here

When to Say Pussy

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I have hired a relationship consultant. He helps me through conversations with my wife.

4 Chapters

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But I don't see the cabinets, or know how to put the 4 chapters he's talking about today into the drawers that are invisible, floating, above his bed he's been in for a year, me sitting next to him, becoming a spinster.

Excelsior - A Poem in 9 Parts (post 1 of 5)

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Excelsior: A Poem in Nine Parts Preface: Musings on a Lighthouse by an Eastern Isle (Suggested by a painting by Mario Larrinaga) It is bright tonight; this plain, displaced from place In Time's broad flight, yields…

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.

Too Weak for the World

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There was a certain romanticism in it, the salty old man sidling up to me at a bar, rhapsodizing in a slurred stream of conscious about the state of the world, the country, the state of his own heart. He didn't have an eye patch nor beard, nor was he…

R.I.P.

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Her funeral was scheduled for the following Monday, and of course Claudia would attend. Trouble was, Monday was a workday for my parents. So when neither Mother nor Claudia could find somebody else on short notice to keep me, it was decided that I would a

A Paper that Changes Things

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The dowdy woman in fart nailed the vim.

Tourists

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someone left graffiti on the billboard over: "God's a hard act to follow"; the one that made the news

clutter

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am i a coin

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.

What I Love About History

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What I Love About HistoryMy roommate, Cara, wears all black, which she thinks scares me. I've never bothered to tell her I wore all black for two years, eighth and ninth grade, and I'm just over it, not that I think she's lame or passé, but there's nothing remotely…

Building Furniture Houses

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“Let me in,” I begged. “No. Get back stinky feet.” “I washed them.”

The Plinktonians

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Brian had spent the morning filling out applications all over Knox County, and by noon he was more than ready to call it a day. But apparently there was one last squirt of virtue in him, because heading home he saw a Help…

Fun Times at the Memorial Park

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Good times, underground.