Most read stories

Leaping Through Flames

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I should have never gotten involved in such a huge lie. I was a poet, for God's sake, not a novelist. I wasn't used to lying.

Hunting Season

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A mundane endeavor depicted as a quest. Try it, you'll like it!

Dear Poet(s) of Tomorrow

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you'd do him more of a favor to kill him, than place upon him the burden of such an abrupt change in travel plans.

In an Unfamiliar Restaurant.

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I find myself in an unfamiliar restaurant, its cuisine an uncomfortable pastiche of Croatian, Burmese, Jamaican and leftovers of long ago Sunday dinners in a small New England town.

Trickery

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Maybe it was a trick of the gloom.

Return of the Lost Ones

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I'm working through the rocky pine cones so you don't have to. I'm stepping over the little dreaming people in your dreams so we don't wake them with our loud and coming loose footprints. The poem passes by like a heartbreaking train…

Arion, the poet

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Nearly everyone knows of that celebrated poet’s story coming down to us from classical Greek mythology: the tragic tale of Orpheus and his descent into the underworld to rescue his beloved Eurydice. Well, there’s a much lesser known story of a legendary 7

Coyote Agonistes

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Wile E. Coyote? A junkie strung out on bunk dope.

Steel and Spell

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Pen or sword? Pick one/choose your battles carefully/for the paths oppose

various verses

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in a willow garden lush shade/drapes dark the young woman's small house/with the lone window, the white door . . .

fragments of their lives survive

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Only fragments of their lives survive, like broken Sapphos. I have known them, alleged killer of themselves for the love of a man., but we know this is an invention. The leader of a whole guild of girls, who wrote 7 books of poems. What happened to them

Arcana Magi Zero + Pure - c.11

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Ayane took another look of the area and it was large warehouse. A loud thud vibrated outside.

Independence Day

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It’s Independence Day. But I’m not feeling independent.

zygomatics

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i saw a sign and it read A PERSON THAT IS MEAN TO THE WAITER IS A MEAN PERSON i thought of you with your high cheekbones, the sense of entitlement unparalleled, the superiority complex that hid much you had a gig and it had probably…

The Continuous City

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The night sky was washed gray by city lights.

A Straw Grasp

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My wife, Sheila, inadvertently clicked my e-mail address, too, when she sent her reply back to him and I read her poet friend's message that her love opened the window of his heart and she replied that his words were knocks that opened the door to her being, then I stood…

Inside Out

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Who hasn’t at some point of the day wanted to dredge up everything in your pocket just to see what it is.

Déjà Vu Sur l’Herbe

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While watching the ever-present crowds passing by on my insides, I noticed, by accident, a man smiling who might have been me, not sure. Maybe I’m eating soap for the first time, because I am either frothing or foaming at the mouth. An

Contained

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You’re listening to Smooth FM, taking you from the darkest hours to the start of a brand new day.

Lucky Strike

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...when they entered eager lungs hungry from deep and sweaty love

Straight to Jimbo

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...coming into that bone yard, you just hang a right, go on past La Fontaine, and take a left a bit further on. Jimbo's right up in there.

my love for you

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my love for you/ is like the falling snow

All his things

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All the things that are his.

This Is Why

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Look at this castle: fashioned from the sturdiest sand, pages of my name

Ineluctable

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I attended the burial of our affair when I found the notebook-maybe it should be called her diary-she had foolishly forgotten, leaving it on the deck of my beach house where she stayed while I was on that short trip to Chicago and I was numbed at first, unsure how to…

Trumping the Ground Zero Mosque

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My third Rule of Success—and I may not have these in exactly the right order–is always get a pre-nup!

The Exhaustion of Dreams

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I like it best when I wake up And the wild rain of dreaming ends.

The Family Tradition

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Your father, his father, and his before that, your mother, her mother, and all the way back have kept a tradition by chance or by will to each have a baby (or several) until…

Whither Butter Sculpture?

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Would we have been satisfied with a humble butter sculpture of a cow in 1960? Puh-lease! Would Parisians of the Impressionist era swoon over a big-eyed child picture?

Messages from Upstate

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My eyes are wide open. I look like a graphic novel. My world is black and white. I’m poorly drawn. All sounds have an exclamation point.