Most read stories

the writing of poetry

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We write poetry, but are unable to calm ourselves. We need more men of the world (like you) who are not too much amazed by experience. Men who can lead a dual life. Who have sexuality but remain detached, whole. The bodily, the sensual, easy give and ta

Sphynx Clara

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A brick from the parapet splat down later as I was applying a bitter healing powder, made from the seeds of watermelons, to my raw tongue.

Agents of the Anthropocene

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Perhaps they serve/ a God’s twisted will// as they accelerate extinctions

I See Your Face Before Me

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The summer was announcing itself in thick waves of heat that rolled like a slow motion hurricane inside Mark Keeler's 1971 Mercury Montego. The car baked in a…

Picnic Jugs

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The car was a two-tone black and white Chevy...

Abject Horror of Objects (ELECTRIC DELIRIUM 1.8)

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Rosey streaks through the city, dragging a flooded umbrella.

The Gift Garden (Extract)

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Now I hear a woman's voice. It sounds familiar, like I know her, but in my daze it is slightly distorted, like I am underwater and she is calling to me beneath the waves. She tells me not to be afraid. Her words are calming; they soothe away the panic and confusion. I…

Finale

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the future wrapped up in a dream

A Walk on Ferry Beach, Maine

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"and I turned to you, at some joke we shared, and saw winter ease its hand,"

My Belgian Waffle-Hound: Song

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I was walking my Belgian Waffle-Hound Past the Belgian waffle shop I found a penny on the ground And did a tiny little hop I spun around and went inside The Belgian waffle shop And bought a little waffle For my Belgian Waffle-Hound

Heron

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. . . nor did mine eye apologize.

The Paintings at Lascaux

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

#2 Feeding Fire (Poetry)

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It is like truth on the battle field. Muted

Keys

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life, bro/bra

Henry's Moment

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“You need to keep a close vigil on your X-Ray binaries from the Sun. The star and its blazing temperature could spill over at its outer-most edges. The material would be such a high temperature; it would destroy all life on your planet, and…

The Bounce

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I. Two cancer scares since June, one came up nothing the other nothing much. (My breasts are dense: I know all about moles— little bastards don't have to get sun to go nuts.) My manuscript travels ether to…

Perfect

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a perfect afternoon

Myra's Accident

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We’ve both been broken, we’ve both been defeated and jaded and we’ve both cried uncontrollably, but we’ve always managed to get back on our feet.

Shadowland

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His touch, even now, seemed to set off tremors inside her.

The Real Story Behind The Lipstick On Obama's Shirt

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The lipstick on your collar walked up the steps and through the front door, without a key. Her smile was hypnotically red and bountiful. The guards standing around didn't dare frisk her for weapons, her lips were weapon enough.

Drink Up Darling

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Darling Valentine’s pale legs shone in the dark, a beacon for the car driving without headlights along a tree-lined row of brownstones.

The Baptism of David Swimmer

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The church pews were straining at the crowds who had come to see David get saved. There was no salvation in the water really, but the Baptists preached the gospel of immersion. There was a certain Baptist church in Kentucky that pressured a man who'd been sprinkled to get…

Style Shifts

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Style Shifts “Oh, yes, my cousin. We were rude boys until the armed gangs started to gather. Used to be we could pass a night driving, playing our songs, acting tough. Yeah. We'd mouth off, flash some teeth, spark some anger when we felt like it. We…

Take Back the Night

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A woman who is, say, a culinary arts champion or an heiress devoted to literature such as Bryher (Annie Winifred Ellerman) or Peggy Guggenheim might be able to turn me on, turn me out, turn me around.

sabotage

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people keep trying to get me/ "out of the house"./ they see fun in me, and cool in me,/ and want to spend time with me,/ and i am flattered most sincerely./

One Black Wheel

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"..squeezing her eyes and mouth tightly."

Lire's Children, After the Swans

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our eyes misted white as goatskin

The Continuous City

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The night sky was washed gray by city lights.

Once There Was A Man

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And there sat one man. Searching for words and solace. The silence returned and the colors peeled off from the walls. Darkness returned with fledgling light. He threw back his head and filled the emptiness with his laugh. He laughed in mirth and in misery

Childbed (cenotaph song)

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Those who don’t die, desire, descend. No song aloft arises from my irk. The seeing chieftain, not of sea, nor sand, nor boat, I till nightfall stammer alive, dig boneless trenches against tiding dregs and lathe, hunt, wallow, plow the hours, call in awei