Most read stories

Boston Marathon

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As I walked down to the Subway, I thought to myself that now, after the horror in Boston, everybody looks like a terrorist.

Chair and Umbrella, $25

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If white t-shirts are only an SPF of 8, she couldn’t even imagine what a white nylon-mesh umbrella on this godforsaken beach might be in terms of protection.

Convenience Store

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I’m casing the place; my boyfriend Jimmy is about to bust in and rob the store.

Sorry, Charlie

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Vietnam, Tet, and beaucoup Charlie

For my lost child

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and where have the years sped how distant was your youth

One Day We Grow Wings

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Cicadas shed their skin as they grow, leaving crisp hollowed out remains on tree trunks, fence posts, and the undersides of upturned leaves. Tommy and I would collect them in the early morning and stick them to our clothes like brooches. I used to like Tommy,…

Solution

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I wrote her a poem.She said, “I hate poetry.” I said, “OK, just read the words then."

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 …

A Break in the Cloud

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Each had jostled and laboured for his or her place upon the blunt outcrop, in the cold persistent darkness, where the outcrop was merely something that had fallen and not quite been washed away.

1935 What I Wanted

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embarrassment

Blue Moon

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I suppose it was inevitable, This crashing of souls, This recognition of possibility to create. If we were younger, We would make a baby, The ultimate act of faith. Now it has to be something else, Nothing to force a track with night feedings, …

EAGLE

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It was an eagle in the waves Those eyes make no mistake Especially from a mile high Blue fish and tuna Too dumb to run

Seeing Me

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I got to see me the other day.

Something Going Down, Like a Branch Snapped by Wind

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This is 57% of middle America, I'm convinced: doomed.

Aurora Borealis

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I recalled the one night stand I'd had with the girl one balmy summer night in Minneapolis. We lay on my bed in the moonlight, and I touched the nipples of her tiny breasts with the thumb and pinkie of one hand.

Miss Zoldac's Fifth Grade Class Balloon Launch

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INSTRUCTIONS: To all students, please address your index card: "To the Finder of this Balloon." Beneath that, write something that will encourage the finder to email you back. Then tape the index card to your balloon's string.Happy Ballooning! To the Finder…

Sensation

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She could see him doing these things but she could not hear him.

Bats in the Catacomb

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Dreams / of being a millionaire are replaced by dreams / of being a billionaire

16 Rules to help you become a Writer

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Get comfortable with criticism

The Washing of the Quilts

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Sweaty feet, drool from the weighty sleep of mid-afternoon naps, the inescapable perspiration of the South: all combine to create the entwined scent of socks and stale toothbrushes...

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 23

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After the Tokyo experience, Frank and Michiko decided that when she went on extended tours, Frank would accompany her.

Destiny Narrowly Avoided

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Then it started extruding tendrils and tying them all into intricate knots.

Storms

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Sirens wake me, screaming warnings in the dark.

100 Words

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She thinks this is the place she dreamed

Things As They Really Are

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I slide my CD toward Eric Burdon who sits, smiling and gracious and fatigued from Seattle traffic, at the table at Silver Platters, where I have just purchased ‘Til Your River Runs Dry, and stood in a line of old gray heads to have him sign it. I remove my hat and…

Boil

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Boil (n.)––1. Pus-filled pustule inflammation of the skin, usually painful. 2. Slang boiled pus, bucket of (n. phrase)“Your asshole brain is a bucket of boiled pus.” (see also pus, SCOTTISH derogatory term for face.

cross-quarter days

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sentinels in a frost-blackened field

Those Things

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For me, it was that kind of moment. I got to come back. I had been here before and now, well now, I could come back. I had a chance to do it all again, bigger, better and well, just better. I hoped I could remember all that I learned the first time.

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…

Elevator to the Angels

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I opened the closet door and there stood Eugène Ionesco lost among our clothes.