Most read stories

Don’t Cross the Bridge Before You Get To the River

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I think we could be twins, our hands hitching us together like paper dolls, our parkas making blobby round balloon shapes as outlines for our bodies. I imagine each of us holding onto someone else, and the line continuing on from there until we have a cha

Storms

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Sirens wake me, screaming warnings in the dark.

Kindness

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Two days ago, a friend of mine and I met at my house. She was a nurse, and could only visit my house very late at night when her shift ended. We don’t meet often because she is very busy saving lives and generally being a more useful human being in societ

"We Are the Last Minority" Say Surrealist Poets

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"My sister's parrot admires your armpit," X-Lautrec says. "Would you be so kind as to nail an avocado seed to a cup of black coffee?"

It Started When My Cheek Absorbed A Mean Left Hook

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Describe my origami, the shape of a gun or a limp dick, or maybe a flower.

13. spring makeout haiku

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tangerine mouthfeel

Koch Brothers

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When Chuck dies, I’ll throw/ a party and dance, a little drunk,/ across what I’ll pretend/ is the old shit’s grave.

Natural History

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It sits up tall on its hind legs to take in all of whatever this is, big and bluer than the sky, death's own taxicab parked on its doorstep.

The Family of Unsharpened Pencils

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and pressed an area on my forehead between my eyes

The Silicon Chamber

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Why did he seek punishment, if he felt no guilt? Why this empty conscious, though he had done such evil?

The Greatest Science Fiction Story Ever Told

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“Apollo twenty-two. Come in.”, the voice crackled through the speakers of the aircraft. There was only silence broken by a solitary meow and the slight whistle of oxygenated air through the ventilation system. “Captain Snuggles, now that you…

Man Writing Story With Ears Plugged About Painter Who Only Hears in Color; Black Ink, 2002

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Ready, here we go.

Father Dunne's School for Wayward Boys #4

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I approached him slowly. His voice was soft and raspy. He said, "Kneel down my son, I've been expecting you."

His Essay on the Meaning of Poetry

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Poetry is conceit; emotional, intellectual or technical.

Exile

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Dandelions wither as I approach and the grass dies under my feet.

Reprisal

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Reprisal The bomb blew away hubris, shocked the arrogant bastards into humiliated silence. None of them had experienced hunger and they'd misjudged its effect. In the lobby of the palace, dirt, plaster, glass shifted, rumbled,…

The Richter Sanction

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“Now,” my friend said. “Tell us about earthquakes. Can we expect one anytime soon?”

ANGER

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You gave me everything, delivered with a hungry mouth. Tease.All taken away, erasedby a few words.Lips that poured forth and lips that took insharp, electric pleasures.Now withdrawn, thin, petulant.Not satisfied,you crushed my sanctuary.with so…

16 Rules to help you become a Writer

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Get comfortable with criticism

The Man That Wasn't Hers

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"I am lying on my back and am confused."

In Search of a Meaningful Moment

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She wheeled more deeply into the office towards Mason’s desk. Keith hurried to the desk and pulled the chair out of the way for her and a sat down next to her. She was blue-eyed, pale and completely hairless, which made it difficult to guess her age.

Because

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He spoke the "Why" and it stuck out its tail. He tripped and fell with his face wedged between the W. She kept the answer in her chest so the words wouldn't crowd him where he lay. The "Why" found its way back into his cheeks and puffed his face out like a disease. He…

~switches and shade~

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  mis-placed       the change           she goes looking for.        her folks        missed another hour...          her worth-while spent wasting        the voice wouldn’t leave the leaves alone.

Old Houses

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The rocking chair will bite your toes.

Lab Work

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Desire stirred into the liquid reveals Cold ice smoking colder, As you pipet these channels of my heart.

Trickery

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Maybe it was a trick of the gloom.

Winter Paints Nelson County

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It was more than just taste/ more than a point of view/ and oil and pigment/ that painted a store front church/ a box with a cross in a vacant lot/ that welcomed desperation, faith/ and imagination.

No. Please, No . . .

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["LIKE SAND THROUGH THE HOURGLASS ... SO ... ARE THE DAYS OF OUR LIVES!"]

Otillie

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Shhh. I am here. Otillie Augustine, from Trieste, an Italian city to you, but when I lived it was part of Austria. Such things as who flies their flags over a city? Not so important after all, after all the losses and the victory speeches. These were not…

The Perfume Of Wisdom

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I give you the rattle of the rattlesnake. I give you a daub of creosote. I give you the metaphysics of glue.