Most read stories

Tales from the Golden Age

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Fucking buffalo, the curse of the writer.

Caucasus

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On shingle of seashells & Bullet shells, Ghosts drift along the shore Of the Black Sea.

Göttwigg’s Fandango

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It is not unusual to see Göttwigg with his shirt on inside out.

Bait Shop

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They wanted to go fresh water fishing, so I had to buy worms. None there in the saltwater town. Drove about 10 miles over the long bridge to cross the bay. I'd been there before. Walked in and a crusty, little skinny man got up from his chair. He: Watcha need? Me: Fresh…

Off the Grid

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The slicing is easy. Blade barely touching skin, flesh separating into two clean parts. A breath, and blood fills in the space, an old friend materializing in the shadows. I am redolent with hope and desire. I can't stop thinking of how he excised himself from my…

Harvest

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When the hay was ripe it stirred and rippled like water.

Santa Breaks Bad

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It was bound to happen. Even celebrities can only take so much. The constant comparisons to Christ (people still think He was born in December), assumptions that he was anti-Semite or anti-Islam, and accusations from PETA, now ad litem for…

Arcana Magi Pure Vol.5 - c.1

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Mayumi and Emi were in the spring’s together, center of the pool at shoulder depth. Emi stood in the center, letting its warm and clean air clear out her thoughts.

Still

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Later

Cost

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I rifled through the bedside table until I found dirty magazines

SYCAMORE STREET MORNING

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"S- E- X -- ever heard of it?"

Tale from a Möbius Strip

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Francesca is a sweet girl and everything, but her incessant doting on Paolo is best left private . . .

Hey! Where? Georgie Girl!

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Starry, Starry Night we slept, talked and did the nasty where I, in innocence once built a raft of driftwood to take me twenty miles across to the shore from which we ferried escaping my Father’s demise

She Called My Poem Nice

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“There is no future in art, you will not change lives with flowery words. Please don’t rock the boat”

John's Wife

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Unreasonable anger, Each hour prescribed The house haunted with good intentions,

take off your shoes

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feet soft as eyelids on the tarmac

My Dad was a ditch digger

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men sitting on stoops women earning the rent by working as servants in the rich folks yard

Rocket

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The Chicago to Denver fast train clocked 90 MPH plus, but braked hard on the long curve through town, sparks ringing flanged wheels.

Standing in Line for Pac Man

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Sitting on the couch when we got cable television, on that first day. Pressing buttons that sounded like the slap that your attention span would take as you made your way through the twenty, thirty, forty channels. As you grew older, the amount of channel

The Cenataur (Part 1)

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Love needs loathing like cold weather needs warm clothing. And all truths, untruths and part truths need a place to live when a mind gets too sardine-packed with information and cynicism... Some say there was a time when the light was brighter, the ear

Assiduity Fifteen

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I'm in love with Uzma Goef, a beautiful young woman less than half my age.

Gastro Ad Astra

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He had a simple dream: He wanted to become a star, and not one of those tv stars because those die, those die all the time, and before dying they usually become terrible shadows of their former selves, vile creatures who exploit their own former glory...

Master of Puppets

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“There’s enough food to last here a week.” Ferdinand assured, as a dingy wooden cabin came into view. They were on foot now. He’d insisted on forcing the car into a ravine, using a heavy rock and the last of the gasoline to drive it into a heap of rusted

marc bolan

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marc bolan mind rolling

Life After Death

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If opposites attract, that might explain it, Doreen and I. Conjugally blissed through thick and thin. Forty some odd years. Since June of sixty five.

The Assassination of Sadat

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Just beyond the corkscrew slide / the President of Egypt was bleeding to death

17 Things More Important to Americans than Poems, Poets and Poetics:

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Today’s new YouTube kitten;

Shining Against Each Other

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They keep shining against each other

Baffled

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It's a tunnel, you know, like the neck of a bottle, the tunnel the hair comes up, it's coming out soon, I'm an adolescent now, dammit.

Virgin

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Steven was a hollow tree of a man — outwardly normal for a tired fortysomething, but empty inside. He lived alone in an old farmhouse that reeked of decomposition and Lysol, the previous tenant having left a dozen skinned raccoon carcasses in the attic.