Most read stories

flash non-fiction

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It was the sweetest relationship I've ever had.

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 33

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She’s a gourmet cook who can fake a great orgasm.

a girl's mane

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Wild bore the wind down on me, coming out of the heavens that turned around the stars of the evening. The longing and the appetite at work in the body, all tickling to open a girl’s mane, gaping, health-giving crossroads to the body. Hail and farewell t

Up & Down Stairs

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Nature has patience.

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…

Cracked Heart Reigns in My Eyes

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Rainy eyes fall fast somewhere close to me Riding the wind like lust

Goody Two-Shoes

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She locked herself in the bathroom on our wedding night. That was my first clue that I had made a mistake.

Five Million Yen: Chapter 55

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Zoë’s divorce lawyer, Arno Aghajanian (“Double A” to his friends), sat at his desk in Los Angeles reading a copy of the Hollywood Intelligencer.

Fargo

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“What does it feel like to run, Thomas?” I yelled across the field. Thomas was so fast. I would never catch up to him. Even if I could run. He was so fast. …

Love

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Goddamned crabs. He got em. Lenny. Itch. Itch. Itch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Night and Day

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The muezzin calls the faithful, his voice soaring over the rooftops, over the trees and the brooks,

Grandma's Fingers

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her hands twined up, as carved from stone, each to fit the other.

What It Is Like

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They read poetry to each other. They met at the local drugstore, after he spotted Tropic of Cancer jutting from her bag. He asked her if she’s finished it. “Nothing like Fifty Shades of Grey,” he said. They laughed. He said: “Come to our book club later.

In A Lightning Storm, Sheep Run Through Barbed Wire

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I used to fear things. The lonesome wind come through the clapboards. Dry hillsides rustling. My own skin in the summer heat. Rattlers. Lurking. Abandoned coal pits. Pa said I was afraid of desolation. I didn't know what he meant by that. How can you be…

Not as a Poet

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She's not a poet, but does she have to be? She comes to the reading to read the poems of her recently dead husband, for she made a vow: that she would read his work at an open mic. Now she is keeping her word. It's her way of keeping him alive or maybe it's his way of…

Swimming Lessons

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We spend our days on the beach, working on our tans. My pale wife hides under a big floppy hat. The water is crystal clear.

Art Class

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The model takes off her clothes and poses nude for our class. We draw her likeness on paper.

Things That Are Sad

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Things that are sad.

Philosophic Fashions of Penultimate Times

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What are our reigning philosophies today, what dominant schools inform and lead our intellectual efforts, inspire our blissful reveries, inflame our breathless humanity?

Hot Flashes

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On high a centaur is pulling a yellow chicken on a sled.

Free Form Jazz of Spiritual Harlem

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we are one

Sixes and Nines

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"I understand."

After all

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The questions piled up so high I thought I'd neverget through the door.The ease of alcohol, the incline of submission. Guttural sounds and spittle.Wipe down the morning afterwith a shower.Redress in last night's clothes.There's coffee if you want it.Sincerity too -no,…

Duck for Dinner

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My friend and I were once walking the aisles of a supermarket because we decided we were going to have roasted duck. We didn’t know how to cook, but as the old Filipino reds used to say: If not now, when? If we don’t learn how to cook now, as in NOW, then

This is the Day

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"...she became aware of her cold saliva dripping slowly over her bare arm muscle,..."

Flesh

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Here’s to flesh:

I Liquidate My Assets

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My businessman does as his nature allows him. He is so cute. All day long he makes deals. He is on his phone most of the time. He raises his voice. “Fuck those fuckers, just do it,” is what he says. My businessman hedges risk on his investments by keeping…

A Life of My Own - 6

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. . . my mind stops idling, kicks back into gear . . .

Assiduity Twenty Seven

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" . . . with twinges of dread and pangs guilt, I worry . . . "

Revenge poem for Sara, following her disparaging remarks about my unfamiliarity with the literary history of the East Coast

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In distant climes ’cross landlocked plains, where history digs still-shallow roots, From masonry a statue looms And in her arms gay pigeons roost.