Most read stories

Artist's Statement: Stepbrother

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Mark Reep is that stepbrother you had a thing for, the one who turned you onto Steve Vai, Stoli.

Ascension of the Conquistador

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One of Montejo's cap­tains has us drilling in the rain again. The sun hasn't shone for days and the air is sti­fling, like try­ing to breath under water. Every­thing looks gray except the palms. Each green leaf droops in the rain like a…

These Words

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These words are dripping Delaware and these words are eating your eyes.

The Cosmos as Gerunds

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There is no there or where but rather/ trajectories of probability

Puddles

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The first inkling that I might be in love with Josie came at our high school senior day outing at, oh, what's its name, state park. I forgot, but it doesn't matter. She smiled, did a little wave and stepped away from her friends, lifted her sundress a little to keep it dry,…

Tatters

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inside i know my heart rattles cause outside i'm only seeing that the truth is in tatters

Morning and Arachnophobia

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...Rabidosa rabida- no spinner/ of webs but a quick and cunning solitary hunter. Anxiety overwhelmed

Tree Yaupon

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They clog the skimmer basket/ and fill the small Polaris bag.

Lime Grove in the Snow

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Up ahead I saw clusters of people standing silently under the trees. They seemed to be just waiting there. More than 100 people lined up in the cold and dark, not moving.

momentary delay

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The clouds cried more than silver tears, this time.

Warning! Please Read this Before Adopting a Pet

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One evening I came home late from work to find my wife drinking white Zinfandel by the fireplace in the living room and reading Wallace Stevens poems out loud to the dog, curled at her feet.

Paradise

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From the rumple of pre-dawn Queens, sure South on 95, to almost Savannah by dark; still cold, but we’re full of what’s coming:

you weren't this way

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i was in the fields, i was moss, was sticking my head in the columbine

What I Really Wanted

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you can't always get what you want

Famine

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To be perfectly honest, I was lousy at my job. Or at least most aspects of it. The typing wasn’t a problem: I can get up to a hundred words a minute on a good stretch of unbroken text, and I’m pretty accurate. I even edited as I went, fixing passiv

Prologue - On the Lips of Children

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Their tongues were dry, her milk was gone, and the last bit of water in the plastic jug had evaporated.

Jackie Kennedy, Marge Simpson & Longevity: What I Learned From Magazines This Week

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The title of the overdue book returned to a public library in San Francisco 100 years after it had been checked out? Forty Minutes Late.(Readers Digest, 04/17)In 1999, Kathy McKeon, Jackie Kennedy's former assistant, went to a Halloween party dressed in a Marge Simpson…

The Date

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Everything was cool until she used the phrase, "five million dollar home."

A Blowhard Drops By

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So, I say, what is the answer? The answer to what? You know. The song by Bob Dylan. The answer is blowing in the wind. You’re the wind. So what’s the answer?

Transgressions

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Once you descend, the third rail/ hums its invitation

Quatrains Written on Stolen Time

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It is the fragrance of decay/ as paint, polymers and dyes/ outgas molecules of themselves

How to Get Fans For Your Band (or book, start-up, app, whatever)

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You’re finally in a band that can get through a rehearsal without someone strangling someone with an amp cord over creative differences. No one’s in jail, rehab, or MIA from a multi-day booze binge. The group has laid down a few quality tracks that don’t

Getting By

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The were two things and two things only in the town of Comfort, Alabama, that were older than Bella.

A modicum of madness

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for the moment/ you think you know what you’re/ doing and do it.

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 43

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—Have you ever fired a gun?

Lost Boy - Excerpt from Single Stroke Seven

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“How long you been waiting around?” he asks as he pockets my soggy ten-dollar bill. “For a jump or break in life?” I ask. He smirks. “I hear that.”

The Blue Jay

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His mother hated blue jays, hated them with a passion she usually reserved for no-count trash who drank beer on their front steps and worked on their cars in the street.

Friday 13.10.1307

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This is a warrant for your arrest.

Personal Time

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“I”, fuck it. I, I, I, I. It has always only been about me, this voice of mine, indivisibly me. selfishly and pompously. I shall not dispense with the false pleasantries other writers will offer, those writers that say, “Reader, look here, look at the…

The Passed Away

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Died is forever. Passed away/ Is ambiguous. Dead isn’t/ polite.