Most read stories

Lucid Sleep

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In my dreams, I feel my dreams fade away.

Off the Record

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“In other words you're going to lie through your teeth..."

Last Stop

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So we stayed on the train admiring the time.

Haikus for Miss Winehouse

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Drag queens weep sequins

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…

A Flat Sheet and One Standard Pillowcase

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this is your hair, this is your stare, this is your voice

You Require Sharpness of Image and Therefore of Words

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I wrote a poem and asked a professor to read it. / He said: IMAGE IMAGE IMAGE IMAGE / like a mad man on meth, foam running down / his mouth crowded with sharp, shimmering teeth.

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

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Eva stepped out of the hut she and Javier shared and slogged through the mud toward the coop to fetch fresh eggs for Javier's breakfast. None existed. Javier became angry when he didn't get his eggs. Eva slowed her pace as she neared the door. She knew wh

Sorrow

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It's not a funeral. Nobody to mourn over.

The Reward of Work is Harder Work

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If you stop, you starve// and they just offer what you do/ to others, starved already,/ and schooled, as you, in servitude.

The Master of the Air

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He thought of it as magic, but magic that he understood, the way a magician knows about the hidden compartments in his hat and trunks.

She mentioned prayer in the Øilslick.xxx ZipperPoems

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We transplant helix° splices and shoot back to meet our former selves, zip the scrolls, and save the world. Then you said spin so I twisted my jumper over and over in endless folds like lips, like vaginas, like seacreatures

Lost Among the Consonants

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I'm writing our initials in black sharpie on the tunnel wall. There's already people who have come before me, hundreds of pairs of Qs and As and hearts in the middle, through a small hole in the brick I can hear the French accents, spinning through, a reminder that I am…

Cat crunch

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I barely scraped the sleep out of my eyes when I heard the shrill crying from outside the kitchen window, and I recalled one of the many reasons cats can't be trusted. You see, they're evolutionarily wired to imitate the sound of a crying human baby, so when they…

20. Smitten

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Your tunamelt cadence / Sank me to ocean floors

Five Million Yen: Chapter 17

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-Someone could have boosted this easy as pie, Ben said to himself.

The Tiger Who Jumped Over the Moon

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Lord knows we all tried to stop him from doing it. You're crazy we said. This makes you look like a lunatic. They'll hunt you down in even heavier droves now. You've upset their delicate memories. I tried to stop him. That's cow territory my friend…

Nocturnes

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You go out on a night with no moon, when all the stars are flush in the sky, when all of everything, even you, is just a shadow moving softly, and I swear, you can hear it, if you listen hard enough. The music. It’s like it’s coming from under the ground.

Hold on

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I slept and it was pleasant. Then there was the kiss, and it was hot. Later you turned away, and all was November chill. Now there are touches, caresses and shouts, Marvelous nights flavored with favors bestowed, and blackened days,…

Friends

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The boy stared out his window, noting the suns slow and eventual passing behind the distant mountains. He saw his face reflected in the window pane and turned away. His shadow loomed…

Rags to Riches to Rags, 1

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1 Al Capone was ruling the backstreets and alleyways of Chicago during Prohibition, and we lived in a little house right next door to a speak-easy. I could peak through our curtains and see right into the bar next door when cops came in to get pai

Alice Can Derail You in 3/5ths of a Second

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She connects to you via snarling vines & worm-woven tunnels. Drops Roman numerals

Citronella Socks

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a cat named email..

Having

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I guess it was, you know, a daze thing: He, lightly drunk, turning red in parts of his head, in his cheeks mostly, and his chest, to which my eyes were drawn because of his v-neck douchebag shirt; and I, sleepy beyond belief, sustained like a zombie only

Sunday Storms

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Poems reflect their poets. / Mine: ugly but loved. / It is just as well.

Inheritance

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I blame you for my short temper when I go off the handle when my blood runs cold and I can't think straight I can only react. When I say things I don't mean Even if I do. But I am glad for the fire you started inside of me. That time I…

Untitled (from Postcards from a Railway Station)

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As the silence starts gashing I decide it's the moment to take all my thoughts for a walk; To a sound like a million lightbulbs shutting their fuses I resume my view, Across the sun-strobe streets with blind nightlamps; the safflower sun is lopped on its stalk …

The Angel Closes the Rain

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I may have gone A little soft in the brain But I swear I still see it The angel closes the rain Even God has to refrain From causing us pain When the angel closes the rain So the angel closes the rain At the end of time The angel mus

(Yet Another) Mask

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In frustration, he picked up a hammer and slammed it straight into the center of the mask.

instead

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instead of gun metal deceit, sounds of malice;be a drop of rain.