Most read stories

New World

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The flash of love was real, the life within her was real, and the main thing now was to climb.

Your Last Rooster

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But his muscles fluttered and off he flew leaving the stink of barnyard on the sheets.

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…

"Is Your Stomach Making You Sad?" and Other Conundrums of 21st Century Life

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The questions we ask ourselves define who we are as a culture. “What is the meaning of life?” “Is there a God?” “Does anybody really know what time it is?” “Where the hell did I put my car keys?” To see what…

Four Quarters for a Dollar Moon

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There's a large tunnel that runs under my house. I can only estimate but it's not deep below the ground and that's what worries me.

The Glass

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Not only half-full/ but stress-fractured

OF ALL 2,000 YEARS

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OF ALL 2,000 YEARS 10 Point The city after the snow was Medieval, the thousand paths wound as browsing deer. Inside her coat what wild heart. Lethe The beads were rolled-river at her throat, milk blue on a yellow string. I…

yapping and laughing and living

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

Lost In The City

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They found it naught however as it was lost at metro stops, canceled appointments and in ever dimming light that failed to reflect what was instead of what could have been.

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?”

Honoring Heritage

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salmon sits gentler on my palate

Bethlehem

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I dragged you that last half mile Me such a slip of a thing, one bite mark visible You the bear, your growl now only audible When you furred from kerb to road to kerb The December snow followed us Dragging Christmas red behind you As I ignored my…

Too Early, Too Late

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Things don't always go to plan. Gem knew what people would have said back then, of course. She wasn't stupid.

Boys

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He came to a spot on the edge of the strawberry fields where he liked to sit with his brother and watch the turkey buzzards circle overhead

Fugue No. 4

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I am learning to write.

Everything Has Been Arranged (or, Chamomile Tea at Ten Thousand Feet)

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The building ejects my condominium like an enormous videocassette.

The colour! The power! The vision!

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... and photos of friends from former lives: the Wolfman; Drac; the Mummy; my ungrateful Son; even my gold-digging, coat-tailer ex-wife.

Manifesto

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I write poems.

Last Call

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It’s last call for the Class of 2001, their five-year reunion drawing to a close, and Brenner, in his standard t-shirt and holey jeans, has just arrived.

Accidental Discoveries

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They look like giant golden raindrops, or flying saucers, or peculiar fish out of their element

my son

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his mother brought him to me/ when he was very young/ maybe a few months old,/ born in arizona july.

House

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I sat in the dark, mashing damp sand like clumps of brown sugar into my palm while the heavy Gulf air blew my hair into ropes. Sometimes I worried that I was unable to need people, but, as much as the thought upset me, I couldn't make myself truly want t

Candle Illumination

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Mint upon my palate, I rub sleep infused eyes and crawl under the covers. Oh blessed sleep, please descend upon this body and transverse this fatigue. Eyes closed, bring a wavering blackness upon subtle lids. The conversation begins…

Chicken Noodle

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Damn this airplane

The Way Home

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Her back turned, she wanders off searching for the way home wringing her hands, trying to think, but thoughts evade her.

Oh, Baby!

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One of the drunk men, a dear friend, hunk, as he updated me, now living the existence of a poet, called from San Francisco to say he would take the plane to Minneapolis, do it, then leave me to raise the baby.

Jouissance

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BECAUSE to fuck is an incidental REASON to be here

Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa is Trying to Say Something to His Mother

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The songs that she used to sing to him still dance in his head while he wrangles equations. The stars in the cosmos spell out her name.

Five Million Yen: Chapter 3

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Now you are a raving bare-forked fool madman with nothing.

Raft and Rag

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A new philosophy stirs in its surgery.