Most read stories

It makes no difference

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So I'll throw in ten.

Books

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'Like poems,’ I said she paused and nodded her black mop.

The James Joyce Piggly-Wiggly

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In Aisle 3 would you brighthearted find Count the Chocula.

A Story with Tahini in It

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"What do you mean..."

Rest Stop

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Wicklow sat in the handicapped stall, pants down and straining, fed up to here with a world in which he couldn’t even take a decent crap.

cuneus + forma

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the warnings we fear are the selfsame ones of ourselves of our vertical need to be first to the heights redoubling its intractable charm of production— our inheritance.

2

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He sits in the best chair and it collapses so he unfolds himself up like a mechanical shadow and sits in the second best chair.

My Alice

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My story begins where so many have ended, strapped fast to a cold table, just moments from a lobotomy needle and anything resembling the man that I am.

Dreamtime

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The problem with drinking gin in the desert is that eventually there is no more gin but the desert is still there.

Woman Things

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...when the doctor scrapes the baby out, he cuts out all the things that make babies, too...

trixie

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she had a chipped tooth...

Smackdown

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you escape by finding the bubbles

The Mender

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I polished his shoes to an avid black; sewed buttons backand mended torn silk and cotton.His clothing was my busy work. Needle, thread, stitch, and iron,I was his apothecary of linens.Blood, wine, soup, vomit --these I cleaned too, until all theircolor and scent…

Entomophobia

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And I admire// the orchestrations of ants and honeybees/ and the persistence and adaptations/ of the cockroach.

A Song To Lose Your Shoes To

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You’ve got me standin’ on my knees, A’searchin’ for a beggar’s alms, From folks who’re deaf to all my pleas And blind to open palms.

Like Picasso

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lying back on inviolable sheets, your breasts spread apart like a child’s open hands you’d look up at me and smile

Five Million Yen: Chapter 74: Coda

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It was the first warm day of a late-arriving spring. Ben was sitting in his divorce lawyer’s office on Maiden Lane in lower Manhattan.

Casablanca Or Something Like It

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"More and more levels of physicality. And his eyes, man. His eyes were all wet, and... sparkly.” “Wow.” “Yeah. And before I can stop the escalation, he's massaging my heart.” “Get the f__k out..."

My Neighbor in the Apartment Across the Hall

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She's an obese woman whose clothes don't fit: shirts that ride up too high her belly hanging out her pants suctioned to her strangely pegged legs. Her ballooned cheeks are always chapped pink her lips little slivers peeled back over small beige teeth like…

Tendencies

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Will he do it with a gun? If it’s a gun, will it be a short one, shaved so he can hold it against his head. Will it look like the photograph he showed me, black and brown. I told him he couldn’t possibly buy something like that from a Walmart.

Haiku For Birthdays

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The Tamarack Swamps

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Last night, in a tavern called Wits End, we dropped quarters into a console, sized and shaped like an old TV.

The Vivid Dream

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I had a terribly vivid dream where a big leaf was talking to a baby, and the Mouseketeers had grown fat, and my lover was passing the healing comb through the hair of my soul during the night as she retouched my youth, so I could rejoin

Beside the Pool at Noon

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he flies away past the green explosion, into the azure sky

Xmas Letter 2015

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Another year has flown, crashed to the ground, and convulsed to its death in a final match with the meaninglessness of existence. Decided to try my luck as a Walmart greeter this year but the apomorphine treatment made me break out in hives and I reacted…

Migration

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A friend's remark about androgyny, "it's overrated," she said.

Post-Probity

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After dividing the sabliereand after the outliers roll away,disappear,or sit like a thrombus between two fingers,will there be enough in the dayfor you to watch the sun saginto its everyday tomb,to listen to the sagittal sighof a passing evening,to eat the last fruits of a…

Duluth Harbor

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"And yet she always went on writing, even when nobody cared if she did or not: if she stopped, she told an imaginary prosecutor in her diary, 'I will not have earned death.' "

No Prada, No Burberry, No Gaston Lauvert

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Although it was unlikely that she would witness mobsters racing up or down Wabash Avenue with guns ablast, she paced behind the hotel's ground-floor glass eyeing traffic for fifteen or twenty minutes . . .

Cold/Warm

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I wear boots over bare legs feigning ignorance To the coming storms, the snow the ice the cold