Most read stories

Time. Stop.

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So young. So innocent. How do you tell a little one that her mother is dying? The father seemed to be bathing in a sea of hopelessness lately.

A Raisin in The Sun

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I was about sixteen or seventeen when James Miller had a stroke and died. He was a friend of my father's and a preacher-guy. The last time our church had been that full was at the barbecue the weekend after the church was built. Somehow, the structure went…

The Etymology of Fun

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Tell people of substance the truth.

On the Way To

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Robbie’s wrists itched hard, the cord was sunk in so tight his hands were bordering now on blue, now purple. Too late to matter.

My Cyber Companion

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Jannsun started working for Matrix back when he gave up on writing the next great American Novel, which was about five years ago, right after the war. He was old for a Web Zone designer but who knew? Who cared? His work was all done via satellite and as l

The Eyes

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I've never liked kind eyes;I prefer drive.Or fire.And when a woman's eyes are described as "doe,"I hear "dumb."Like an animal.

Next Time, Academics

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I suggested when we passed the flesh shack that we turn around and that I go in and say to the sex workers that the Russians are fetching $3.5K per hour in Manhattan and it's private, unlike there at that road-side shack.

Cairn

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Your cairns/ are litter in the streets

Vacuum City

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What chaos comes from / insufficiency? What else can calcify dreams?

Dapplegrey (Where He Lived)

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A short time ago, a man who lived near me got angry. He woke up one morning and torched his house, with his wife and stepdaughter still inside. He drove up I-35 to the Georgetown airport, got his plane, and flew it into the Echelon Building in Austin.

Night Of The Ghouls

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The following is a true story. Though it happened 35 years ago, it happened last night too. Everyday a new convert is welcome, a new tapestry begun. A new hunger is born.

Celebrity Sighting

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No, that can't be him, Joe thought. The guy was messing around the displays in back. He had walked in three or four minutes ago, by now, and he certainly looked the part — or at least Joe thought…

The Phosphorescent French Fry

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She's speaking again, this time in whispers. Her head is shrinking in on itself. If there is a way to save her I'm not aware of it.

My Hillbilly's Got a Hole In It

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My hillbilly’s got a hole in it And I think I’m gonna die I swear you can see right through him Got a big hole in his side I think I pulled the trigger On the truth gun at my side Then it just got bigger It started getting wide He tried

when-one-of-your-two-divorcing-dearest-friends-says-Choose-it-turns-out-both-is-not-an-option

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fallout

A Martyr

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I've written of this and I've written of that, Have scriven as you have it either that or this: But if you strive against the wind when you decide to piss, They say, you'll find up firing against your hat- Like some old Brother who was broiled when…

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 41

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Frank was about to take the first bite of a chicken salad sandwich.

13 poets in Hell

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1Paradise Lost is cast into the lake of fire. Satan tells John Milton to rewrite it in 140 characters or fewer.2Filippo Marinetti languishes in a dismal rural idyll. His hand, possessed, scrawls euphonic odes to the moon with a quill.3Henri Michaux floats through the…

Your Guide to a WASP Bar Mitzvah

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“The first thing you must remember,” Polly tells the Levensons, “is that every penny you spend on your guests is that much less you can spend on your horses.”

One Story Above the Boy in an Old Car

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Near dusk today a car backfired on the street beneath my office window

We Must Save Ourselves

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We Must Save Ourselves I'm looking for my savior on subways, Is he this man pushing half himself On a skate board, from car to car, Singing I have no Legs, I have no Legs, I'm looking for my savior in coffee shops Of…

Paradise

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The oval-shaped, pearl-white objects shimmered soundlessly in the warm sunlight. Suddenly one object veered off and headed towards them stopping to hover not twenty feet away. Suddenly their phones vibrated simultaneously. They both looked at their messa

Not Writing

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I don't look like other poets. / People hardly believe it when I say / "I write poetry, sometimes. / During lonely evenings."

Bringing a New Poet into Your Home

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You may want to pretend to leave once or twice, peeking in through a window from a darkened room, to see how they interact. Never leave a new poet unattended with the pack until you’ve determined that the new arrival has learned to fit in with the other w

Hooves on the Sand

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It was a bright day in April, the cruelest month, and the gears and pumps of the train beat on into the still air.

If Hell...

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the sour waft of a secret

Autumn

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Early morning cokeBottle. Did Katie callHeiddegger "Skippy"?Remember years backWhen we studied so hard andHa ha, just kidding.As you age, neverForget you are dying noFaster than before.

the dreamer of eggs

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How much sucking, faithlessly, can there be? The body being a night thing off which steam rises, that attracts like a magnet or loadstone, whose curls attract, whose ringlets or tufts of touched hair between the legs glory up the nightly watched miracle,

Blank Inside

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She remembers the days when she could have purchased every card in the store and found the words to fill them all.

Storms at the Door

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My Mother always said that a storm was death knocking.