Most read stories

His Name Was Tokarsky, But He Looked Like Bob Dylan

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Tokarsky and I got chased off an El train by a couple of mean-looking black dudes who looked like they were going to crush us. I let go a spritz of tear gas that I had on me in the train and we ran as it came to a stop at the Morris Street stop. They chas

The Cusp of Leaving

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She waited on the hot, broken pavement, arm outstretched, her thumb a ticket to a distant, refracted horizon. Waves of heat danced like undulating snakes under the spell of a charmer. She pictured herself passing through them, abandoning the green of home for the…

Darkness On My Mind

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Darkness on my mind doesn't make me blind.

In the Pink Distance

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in the pink distance / a boy in a corduroy shirt / sits before an upended electrical spindle / and drinks a vodka gimlet

At Sevens

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Originally published on Six Sentences:He walked out of the hotel lobby into the pre-dawn night and thought about another woman, a pretty Spanish woman, not the woman he'd just kissed in a hotel, and a night he'd spent with her in Portugal, wanting each other desperately,…

Lady Gaga Via Richard Cory

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Whenever Lady Gaga took the stage, We peons on the benches cheered for her: She dripped of jewels and paint, and blessed sage, Wore meat as the antithesis to fur.

Seasons of You

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Summer, Spring, Winter, Fall, the Good Lord made them all.

Waiting for Hurricane Dennis, Florida 2005

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WAITING FOR HURRICANE DENNIS, FLORIDA 2005 With soft eyes, she quizzed, shivered, said: “Where's Dad? Where's Ric? Will you leave me here alone? Are you all going to leave? Where's Peter? Do you feel all right? We're…

Canvas

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The artist with fork and trowel. The paint; soil, seed, seedling or plug.

Last Stop

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So we stayed on the train admiring the time.

Shame On 34th Street

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This tanka poem was inspired by news report that the Macy's of "Miracle on 34th Street" fame has a white Santa in front and a black Santa in back.

New Routine

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It was time to leave.

Getting Out

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“We have flown the air like birds and swum the sea like fishes, but have yet to learn the simple act of walking the earth like brothers.” ― Martin Luther King Jr.

Hubris, Now Hollowed

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We laughed like lords and lunatics Our schematics stretched before us

Needles And Sins

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They've put down roots under the dome. Want to push through the ceiling, blot out the sun. I have other plans.

far beyond

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far beyond the far beyond sparkles the stars like sparkles

Snapshots

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“Do you have a job? Are you going back to school,” I asked, you know, because I’m hip like that.

An Uneventful Night in an Italian Hospital

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The voice is back! That voice, like milk and honey, like mother, like the school nurse who bandaged my scraped knee.

Picture of You: Song

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Here’s a picture of you Lit up by the internal light Of the moon. It was a Super moon that night And the story of God Had not been told And we had to wait a good Long time to hear it out in the cold And I was the King of Fishers

Katie

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Katie died on Tuesday.

That Day

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Freedom brings its own fears.

Walls

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No one would have picked me out of a crowd as the morbid one, but it was true that thoughts of easy exits floated through my consciousness regularly. I did my research—the easy methods, painless, guaranteed methods—and felt prepared to do, well, w

When Deer Attack

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Carla woke up from her hospital bed screaming. "Somebody please help me. Please save me. I am begging you."

The Script Sucks But the Special Effects Are Killer

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Victor didn't want to be alone, so he phoned Sophie.

Fossil Beach

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hiking to Fossil Beach

Counterproductive

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A fat kid running; the sounds of an ice-cream truck —counterproductive.

Sunny And 78

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Tombstone is a tongue of stone in the mouth of the desert. The desert is a living entity. It speaks. It speaks with a tongue of stone. It says: Tombstone.

People

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Good kid. Awesome job in big cities. Travels a lot. Enjoys Martinis and G&T. She's a romantic. Spends her time online trolling people into submission. Likes softcore porn. Sets cats on fire. Collects stamps.

the weather past where roads end

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a soft wooden clatter, wind-battered reeds/bound to the banks of ditches rank,/ill-purposed waters slide into low swamps/whose waters into rivers seep and crawl.

Grief Leaves the Room

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It leaves on a Saturday,suddenly, while you are raking leaves or taking out the trash.Those inevitable, boring things.You do not hear it go;it's been quiet before when it left certain rooms. It no longersleeps beside you, and you learnedlong ago that the bed was…