Most read stories

Daffodil

25282528 views5353 comments2525 favs

The Trinity boys don’t blame me at all. They know I am not stupid about the world. I am a robust girl. Nevertheless, like everyone else I have limits. I am a clock that winds down.

The Magical Thinking of Birds

25272527 views2020 comments1313 favs

Her eyes grew wide, moist, catching the low light, holding onto it as if an imprisoned lover. "So you come home." I smiled. Was she playing a game?

Vanya

25262526 views3030 comments1919 favs

That spring the war still moved north but we did not go to it any longer.

Dog Park

25262526 views2323 comments1313 favs

We met an old friend and his old dog. We went off leash on the lush Buffalo grass. He and I—this old friend, I mean—talked mostly of divorce, something we shared between us.

The White Cloud

25252525 views1212 comments88 favs

Like a small meteorite, a white cloud falls. The journey seems to have been long since it cannot spring up again, its wings being exhausted. Like a scared and shivering bird, it curls into my hand. Its apparent fragility prevents me from tightening my grip. A unique…

Nevertheless The Plan Was Not Implemented

25252525 views77 comments55 favs

Thomas Friedman was right when he said, “Much of this biodiversity in Indonesia is now under threat.” It had been this way since gasoline became currency; I remember bartering with The Governance for the newest edition of The Guinness Book of

Freeing Annabel Lee

25222522 views66 comments66 favs

It drifted into the sea, I say, when you ask me about home. You’ve only known me for a few moments, so you’re not sure how to gauge me. You laugh, and make an Annabel Lee reference. The English teach in me wants to hug you. The New Jersey in me wants

stinking nightgown

25222522 views99 comments66 favs

Frank says if I eat the whole bowl of live crickets he’ll give me five dollars and his grandfather’s silver bullet from the war.

The Accordion

25222522 views44 comments33 favs

If I play my accordion too loudly while you're painting, you complain. You stamp about in your room under mine. You fetch the broom from the closet and use it to thump vehemently on the ceiling. I feel the vibrations through my feet.

Sock me in the stomach until I forget it. Down, down, baby. Down by the roller coaster.

25192519 views2727 comments1919 favs

She wants to be an apple on a stick, a mop and handle, a brain attached to bones.

Early Thoughts on the Oedipus Complex

25192519 views77 comments33 favs

Conversation becomes Electra, as do her eyes. Electra’s head is grey, like the head of my Frau Freud, Martha. Her intelligent irises are darkly pigmented, and her sclerae are edged with a dramatic, black line of the sort that Cleopatra affected. In ou

Belonging

25182518 views22 comments11 fav

Don’t eat your lunch here For this is where the monsters sit.

Remember Me to the Motherland

25152515 views33 comments11 fav

When Igor stepped inside the capsule, he had two thoughts: the cramped tin can would either become his victory chariot, or his funeral casket.

Anhedonia (excerpt)

25142514 views33 comments22 favs

Things have happened. It’s a given. What, are you crazy? Of course things have happened. It’s the world, for Christ’s sake. Things are happening. I am consistently missing most, if not all, of them.

Sparrow Down

25132513 views2626 comments2525 favs

There's no surcease from heat, no "cool of the evening," like the songs say about summer in the South. Those songwriters sat under fans in the Brill Building in downtown Manhattan.

ER Chronicles (3)

25132513 views77 comments00 favs

In the shower she sees that her nipples are large and brown, feels the weight of her breasts in the hot water, and suddenly her hand is between her legs, seeking the pleasure that's always been denied her, always

~psychosexual suzy~

25132513 views44 comments44 favs

I hear all the static in her head, all the fuzzy threads from half a mile away. She hates dirt. She hates the couples who come in and talk stupid lies at each other. It's so simple with her. I ask what she likes. The feeling of soft wool on her bare nippl

Zohra El Fassia by Erez Bitton

25092509 views22 comments11 fav

Poem: Zohra El Fassia by Erez Bitton

The Elvis Latte

25082508 views1515 comments66 favs

Elvis at a Starbucks. Some graphic words.

Again

25082508 views55 comments11 fav

Their footsteps stopped suddenly, leaving them staring at one another across the bleak expanse of playground at south Los Angeles' Gompers Middle School. His uniform's white polo shirt felt too restrictive as he watched her budding solar plexus rise and f

Butcher Knife

25082508 views2525 comments99 favs

When I was young I used to carry a butcher knife to bed. My grandmother placed it in my small hands before tucking me in.

A Well Dressed Woman of Recent Times

25072507 views11 comment11 fav

One Overcoat, grey striped; One Suit, fur trimmed, red velvet; One Evening gown and jacket, cretonne; One Negligee brocade; One Costume evening gown; Seven Straw hats; Four Shirts for riding habits; Four Collars for riding habits; One Negligee, green crep

ER Chronicles (1)

25052505 views77 comments33 favs

Thank christ for feminst theory and fat good natured shrinks and tall men who stand guard over me with real guns, real bullets.

Rot

25052505 views3434 comments1414 favs

I loved my Dad. He was executed in 1967. He was guilty.

Blossoms and Buds

25042504 views2525 comments1414 favs

not enough of us / destroy / what we create

The Wordless Realm

25022502 views22 comments11 fav

Cast off unexpectedly,Surety stood watch on distant shore.A wordless beckoning,A siren's callpierced waxed ears.Lashed to the mast,Who helms this vessel,This beating heart?

The Olivetti, the Bomb, and Why I Got My Degree in Economics

25012501 views1111 comments77 favs

The revolution. It found me, and I didn’t even get blown by the bomb.

WπHπAπT 2

25002500 views5656 comments77 favs

WπHπAπT with its pi signs denotes the way the inquiry felt and follows in strategy those inventors in language I estimate highly.

Drought.

25002500 views99 comments55 favs

423 days. The old man still possessed the child-like habit of biting his lower lip when he wrote. The thick skin as dry as pork rind. He recorded the days without rain in a spare, makeshift almanac. The pages waxened from the soiled press of his hand

Miss

25002500 views3737 comments1818 favs

On Saturday mornings, by noon, the delivery car comes from Boston and unloads fresh bread and sandwiches, pork ribs and ground pork stuffed inside of breads and buns and banana leaves, bean shakes, and sticky rice desserts.