Most read stories

Starting Over 1974

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Stone-gathering became my job by default. Digging the foundation, trundling the loaded wheelbarrow away from the site, yours.

The Broken

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A precious heart unfolding the joy within Carefree play marked footsteps skipping along the way Such wonders untold awaiting a time of promise Stilled in the night by a grasping hand Held down in silence fear feeds off this soul Marking its to

Sunday Morning Series- 5: On Divine Intervention

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What does God find abhorrent?

Recycling Evidence

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how much is downed/ to counteract the down/ with deeper down.

we used to drop her off along the way

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We do it all the time...

Juicy | In the Umbra

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He licks his lips and mouths the air, salivating, unashamed of his propensity for the round, pink grapefruit, the almost egg-shaped oranges, the firm, juicy tangerines.

June Cleaver Faces the Implications of the Integrated Circuit

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The Cleavers were never really undone by anything. Everyone, however, has a limit. June manages it all, as usual, with her characteristic grace, lovely crinoline - and a bit of manipulation.

Cassandra Folds the Poem in Her Hand and Loses My Heart in the Process

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Ours is but the very small effort being made here.But it's a good enough keeper for all of usto always remember off. All the tins thataren't really going to save usfrom starving, now are neatly arranged all around, justin case, stacked…

Variations on a Theme by Pina Bausch

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Threads of sadness in the hands, in the touch

Busking for Free

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I'll always remember those warm, weekend twilights on the beach after the frolic of the waves seemed to flatten with the impending dusk, sending the surfers home and, after the bait was spent, sending the surfcasters away, I'd claim a square of sand as my stage,…

Ennui

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I've done the math, it didn't count. All the days and years of endless boredom. Of waiting for the next best thing, trapped inside your mind like a lifetime prison sentence. Maybe one day we'll be free, maybe one day we won't feel so oppressed. But when does that day…

Five Million Yen: Chapter 52

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—Hey, lover man, where’s my breakfast? said Monique, tousling Ben’s hair.

Precipice of Questions

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He stood with the bride of quietness / on the precipice of questions

Precisely

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Is it my imagination, or is her chair afraid of her?

What happens when you listen too much

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It's definitely not her pretty face that made him smile so quirkily when she returned in the evening.

Too Far

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Standing there as you walked away from me that late March afternoon, in the park off Meridian Street, the spring tableau seemed

Scottish Independence

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with peaty aromatics, opened,/ and a welcomed sting, swallowed,

Struggle for Life

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7.53Another morning ritual. Trying to fill the loose ends of time in the early morning is a task.7.54I've done about everything, too early to work and too late to go back to sleep. 7.55Trying to avoid the nausea of life at all cost. My mind is a snakepit, filled with…

November

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You sleep in equative lip biting slumber hugging a pillow you think is someone else.

Deity

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On this day, a blinding sky holds ribbed reams of clouds, staccato against staggering blue.

Standards

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All I ask is that the guy has teeth and an income. More important are the teeth because he can always get a job, but he can’t un-rot the teeth he’s lost to meth.

Destiny Knocking

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She called for land usage to fulfill a social function, to provide an affordable and sustainable way of life for all.

And You--And You--And You

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“Good to see you, old man,” Greg said. He was like that, an investment banker, a latter-day Tom Buchanan without the polo ponies, self-consciously fusty.

New Routine

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It was time to leave.

Lazy River Blues, or Stuck Between a Couple of Exposed Roots and an Endlessly Restless Shore

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Our Sun bites down on the eager yet pouting lips of the softly puffy looking moon, but a jealous & runny cloud interferes with this story line just long enough for a little bit of fun: a young dancing tree washes her gold and…

American Passage

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The moon, a cataract cloaked in its charcoal fog, slowly seeps among the trees; night's unguent.Its glance is constant and white,its arc known. I watch its brow of bone with constant wonder.The long, slow funeral of America is taking its time; its…

Visiting Mom's Family in Oklahoma

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The strangers say hi at the Piggly Wiggly grocery stores, compliment my gold necklace, tell me I'm as beautiful as a Southern Belle, ask where I got my Gucci shoes. “Wow, New…

Uncle Max

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Before Uncle Max died of a heart attack, he had some words of advice for his only nephew and godson. Upon his death, as instructed, a package in brown paper arrived at Jeffery Glimson’s house on a warm June afternoon.

Lake Erie on a Monday Night

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As if I should have expected better of it.

postscript

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the sand is hot to walk upon so you must run if caught there w/out footwear. it is like a painter has colored the sea and made parts of it dark blue yet other areas green. little birds jump around the fine grain world and that is when you wonder where they came…