Most read stories

Towards the End of Memory

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This will be the century of infinite sadness,/ sadder even than the Twentieth/ with its expansive catalog of horrors.

Four Sieges

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Nicole knows that Deirdre is winding up for the weekly pitch, practicing the line in her mind.

Bio Bit

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It was your present world that seemed more than mad to me. Your polished stiff brown shoes that always squeaked like mice, while the latest rude Bombers bubbled up in their comfortable Dart-board garages like apple pies…

No Homo

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We were talking in the dark in my room. He lay on a mattress on the floor. He came for a sleepover.

The seduction

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1. HeWomen's heads turned when Remy stopped in the doorway — as they always did. He noticed — as he always did — but paid no attention as he scanned the room. Too nervy to care. No sign of Fiona. Good. It paid to be the one doing the…

Snapshots

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On a street-lit night in Jeddah.

Arcana Magi Pure Vol.6 - c.3

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The streets were filled with animals of the forest. All in a panic trying to find a direction. Mixed among them were members of various Clans that lived in the forest.

Of Dreams that Dance and Die, Before the Drums

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At eight o' clock: as, drawn by many bells, The patchwork congregation lopes and stalks, To churches far from serenade of shells To storms, we leave behind the windblown walks, And sails of youth, to glide through liquid hells, A temporal…

The Great San Francisco Poetry Wars, 14

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I only knew that my heart was not in my life as I was presently living it. I needed the breasts of my Helen in my mouth forever, or I was going to die. Die! Ah, the life of a poet! I couldn’t go on living like this. Why should I go on living like this?

Blood on Her Hands

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Only blood I got on me was pulling him over onto my seat when I got out.

The Man With the Hairy Back

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It’s strange, what will become of me What my life will be like Since the animal in me Is beginning to show on my back Oh no, no, no Women will never put up with this I was afraid this would happen They’ll think I’m only half a man I’

Ghosts

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"Yes. It was moving, and not along the ground, either. We were. . . looking toward the cemetery, and the ghost or whatever was clearly visible. . ."

1939, What I wanted

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...when suddenly I was pushed from behind, smack into the deep end.

a can of emotional worms

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Is any person is worthy of the kind of ache?

Esmeralda

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Being an uncredited bonus composition, written in the sublimest access of divine afflatus this poet believes his lyric verse has ever known. “In olden times, dark was not counted fair”: Those were the words, I think, of some old poet. …

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 52

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In his dreamlike state the pianist turned into a preying mantis.

The Kid With the Hair

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threads of Cocoa Krispies

Soft Coral Siren

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I didn't feel when you cut out my spine I'd been throwing up all night couldn't even smell the rust …

Seeking...

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I'm subconsciously a sucker for guys who are no good for my self-esteem. Or waistline.

Marion and Carolee

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I never took more than a few pills at a time, just enough for a treat on Friday night.

November Odds

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The stars align against us. Lines of force/ collaborate to push us off the edge/ into the dark abyss we’ve joked about.

The Essence Of Story

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We all tell them/even when our mothers warned us only the Devil/tells stories

The Queen of the Underground

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Study decay, says the Queen of the Underground.

Flash Gordon in Iowa

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I will show you how, in the spring, the sidewalks here look like a crossword puzzle resting under a glass of lemonade,

There's a Pube in My Coffee

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Connor didn't bother to wait in the line of busy professionals, opting to cut in front of the sign that announced "Line Forms At Other End."

Lire's Children, After the Swans

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our eyes misted white as goatskin

The Gentleman on the Train

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The gentleman is discreet, but his eyes wander from his paper at intervals as we travel together from London to Manchester. We happen to be on the same train and he happens to be sitting opposite me. I happen to be a size 34C.

My Drifter Doppelganger

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Looming ahead was another polite suburban party at which, after a couple of pops, I'd say something that embarrasses my wife in front of her girlfriends. Or so she claims.

Sacrifice on Maple Drive

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Sacrificial vic bleeds out . . .

As Poetry Month Ends, Prosaic Types Get Their Turn

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“I’m going,” O’Bannon-Krim says with exasperation as she throws trinkets such as Dylan Thomas beer coozies and Edna St. Vincent Millay hair scrunchies into a cardboard box.