Most read stories

solace

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the frost has made all tender greens bow

Resonate

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In September of that year, our neighbor Wayne had this idea that he could get rich by selling groceries Amway-style, and he booted his 12-year-old boy out of his own bedroom and put up shelves loaded with packages of spaghetti, cans of roast beef, soda po

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 4

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He arrived at Bellevue hospital in a straight jacket bound to a gurney.

As If Not Breathing Could Save him

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She turned him down again. Said it was her insomnia. She was so tired, she said, she had to work in the morning, and why couldn't he understand that? She rolled over facing away from him. He sat up in bed, thinking. When was the last time? Three months ago? Four? He…

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

whispered boat

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word boat

You'll Never Get Anything Accomplished on an Empty Stomach

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The Star Trek marathon ends, and he flips channels. An episode of Full House is on. The cheesy plot lines and attractive women (specifically, DJ Tanner in the late seasons) have become a freakish comfort. In today's episode, the Tanners are baby sitt

Hope's Amanuensis

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I was low on carburetor / oxygen and my fraud protection / had just expired.

Jenny Whistled Through The Mail Slot

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We all thought, Birds! We all thought, Nests inside the chimney!

Time Melts and Means Nothing

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I think we love sex because it brings us so close to the heat of creation that we can see the smoldering flames and the light rising from twigs being rubbed together between the legs. Okay – your turn!

Uncle Ned

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There was this old guy named Ned. He swept floors. No one knew much about him. He'd been around for years sweeping the concrete floors of the hangar-sized buildings that housed the major mechanical service departments at an old amusement park.

The Dry World

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drunkards indulge, addicts abuse

Bedtime Stories

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Even before I tap on the door I know I am being watched with one eye. My footsteps have surely given me away. A swift tug on it reveals her to me—half of her, that is, and I slink past the threshold, to her. From her eyes I see that she has…

Unspoken

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I'm waiting for your voice. My trembling hand is so damp the phone could slip from my fragile grasp at any moment. Each ring burns in my ear and makes the washing machine in my stomach tumble faster and faster. After three rings, or it could be four, or forty, I hear…

Showdown at the Okay Corral

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I hauled out my Norton Anthology and threw caution to the wind.

Sunday Morning in the ER

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We do the work of fixing people like him?

Powerless

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7:23. The grid abandons us.

~with every breath~

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she goes jogging with the feet of an angel the sound of crunching leaves like wrapping paper torn open to reveal an expensive doll and the light in her mother's eyes.

Feeling fences

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... he could feel the pointed picket spears.

The Conversation

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Listening is loving. What is more erotic than these fathoms, skeins, words, roping tight the ardent ear.

Running In My Veins

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They say that inside the veins of every Bohemian lies an entire army of dead alcoholics. I suppose this is true of me too.

Black Sweater

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A small poem about incipient insanity

My Life in Prepositions

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Thanks to prepositions I can be on drugs, get into music, sway under the influence and rock around the clock. I can jump up and down, crawl into a sleeping bag, sleep under the stars, wander into dreams, and wake up feeling down. I can drink from a bottle, sit…

Chasing the “Z” words

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It ain't the steak, it's the sizzle.

War & Peace

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In the morning the fog boils up from the ground as I pad down the steps to the lake in bare feet. I stand at the edge of the water naked as a newborn.

On Making Love

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He did many things for love: Once he placed his tongue in his boyfriend’s nostril during sex, because he seemed to have read in the internet that this was a “thing” among the younger of their social class...

Awaiting the End of Time

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The alphabets will disappear.

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 30

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Anatoly Gringovitch took a swallow of beer, thoughtfully put the cap on his Ferrari da Varese custom fountain pen, and launched into his story:

Just Beyond

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hey, this is me who danced to the Doors I thought I would surely dodge that bullet

It's Part of the Plan

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...and on the eighth day