Most read stories

Art exploits

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Against// the mysteries and the dark/ it illuminates and shapes

EFFORT

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From outside it looked abandoned. We lived at the top of a dead end hill. The grass was high and brown, the bricks in the driveway were crooked, caved in. The winter was mild; rotten crabapples, half-frozen, lined the end of the road. This was my house.

Damien Hirst Burger

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the Tate Modern is like a dungeon!

Confronting the Alien

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I find Vermeer and Bach and feel/ for a moment a shower of my own world’s/ prismatics.

Hive mentality

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My anger over yesterday's argument with you slipped from memory when I felt the first of the two hundred bee stings, each tiny jab another burst of brilliant pain, and each little attack another reminder to watch where I'm walking.

Bees in the Eaves

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We write in darkness. We love in alleys. We breathe into beige paper bags. Anything to mollify the confusion. Anything to simplify the math.

Against Poetry

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If you had a choice, be a poet or not, I’d suggest prose for the lines that you jot.

The Truth about the Law

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I hear the undying screams of the children outside.

Me and Jim the Wonder Dog

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“Lassie was a hack,” Jim the Wonder Dog says as he looks out over fields of soybeans. “She couldn’t act her way out of a 25 pound bag of Purina Dog Chow."

The Suicider (Short Version)

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He woke up four hours later with the second worst headache of his life. He leaned against the car door, his face against the window, and pulled the handle to open the door, but it hit the wall. He pulled himself out of the car by the top of the door frame

Stuffed Animals

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Mr. Skunk looked disdainfully at the window. “When the fuck do we get out of this place?” It was mostly rhetorical as the Skunks were all stuffed and inanimate.

Working Animal

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There is an air of sulfur about you. I cannot tell if / it emanantes from you, or it is the stink of your clothes / from having been in hell for so long.

A Scriptwriter's Story

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He paid the price for being a dick when he tried to write. The Muse did not care for violent behavior.

War Stories

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I told about the time during the early part of WW II when I shook hands with a member of the Flying Tigers. He was home on leave, and he stopped by to see my dad, who had been his scout master.

Arcana Magi Pure Vol.6 - c.2

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As Mrs. Saito put on the helmet, the copter got off the ground. She focused her Mana and placed her hand on the window, bracing for the birds arrival.

Blame It on The Good Stuff

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That was nearly two years and a thousand smiles ago.

Convalescent

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that was one ending

Song: Three Good Hubcaps, music by Tom Casesa

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NO3RAM7-ciU

The Passing of a Hero

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"...and time came hurtling behind him, gripped his shoulder/ jumped clean over him like a buck goat/ the world aged but he did not/ he spent his afternoons in an old car with fake leather seats/ drank cold beer under the olive trees/ or lay in a hammock/

Vestiges

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Even the fruit from the nearby orchard (which I, in part, nourish) batters my stone to rot.

Hippie Mix

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Let us talk granola and improvising on the margins of munchies and breakfast.

Rejection Isn’t Always Everything It’s Racked Up To Be

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I was so messed up when you left me, and I admit I went around searching the faces of the crowd for the man who filled your womb.

4:09 and American Music

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If you knew everything, you would not be able to sit on tropical balconies at 4:09 A.M., discovering a book and then the world for the first time If you were part of the spiritual set, and could astral travel far and wide, but neglected to open the door…

Notes to the Dead

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The kind of poem poets write and read. I mean, hey I was feelin’ it HARD at 3:24 am, and this is what spilled out.

Filtering Grace

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...She was my first, my only, she broke me in then brought me down. Alone now, I cycle through hundreds of variations of her image like a flip book narrating some abstract story. That’s all she is now to me, an incoherent melange of tints, saturations, an

Great Gatsby Roulette

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It was May of my senior year in college. Everybody was coasting, knowing what they were going to be doing the next year, or that they’d be doing nothing. Except for one guy, Tom.

Salon du Monde

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I sit there reading a magazine while the woman clips my claws. From time to time I watch Kim’s face.

gravelortian part 5

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papa wants to dance - the future is so bright - feel good all the time baby

The Forest is Falling

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another paper saving 55er

a grey green enamel vase in the rain

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we hover black as carrion birds with a glut empty need seems to me she's fell as thee and knows exactly where we posture anxiously spitting falsehoods on cue twittering like snipes cause there's nothing left to do she might have spent her whole life just