Most read stories

I Don't Know How the Nights Can Be So Long When Life Is So Short

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I will always remember that picture of you in your bright blue summer dress, with your arms spread out against a wooden fence in Central Park.

what audible skill

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We all heard the audible skill you had, speaking smoothly of our lives, saying audibly what has driven us, who are huge with night, rising with its origin inside, and clear water running past, beyond, behind, and after us. To honor, to fear utteranc

fields of gold

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The son stood on the porch with his grip packed. "I'm off to mine me a fortune a gold, Daddy." "Boy, there's a fortune in gold right here," said the father, indicating the ripe wheat, glowing in early morning sun. The kid slumped. "Pop, you turn over a rock there,…

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 Town Drunk

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“Living rooms,” said the town drunk, “are incapable of emanating.”

Things that blow up

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For as long as John could remember, he loved to blow up things. It started back in grade school with firecrackers and cherry bombs—he would put them in toys, tin cans, shit like that to see what would happen. Then he advanced to stronger stuff, M-80s. Skip and…

ROMANCE

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In the neon light and barroom shadows,

the marriage of heaven and hell & their cat

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It is hard

Nothing Ever Stays Looking

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The same, some things you Can't explain, most trees Have felt it go bone dry at the roots before. I've learned to let love Go bye bye. You think they don't Want to answer your pathetic knocks, But they're…

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…

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

Gilbert B Fumbleberry

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“You know, Miss Viv, I love looking at the sun when it’s almost gone. It kinda looks like an orange and apple squished together. Those are the colors. And the puffy clouds under it look like a bed. It’s going to sleep."

Blame It on The Good Stuff

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That was nearly two years and a thousand smiles ago.

The Fourth Prague Defenestration: 5

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Vladimir walked down the little path next to the creek with us. I stopped along the way and picked off a sliver of some of the bedrock that was sticking out alongside the narrow path, to take home with me as a souvenir of my family castle, just to be ab

Before the Divorce

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Me leaving is not the confirmation of all your fears. It is not. It's because of them.

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

Panic Pure

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He said, “It was only after I broke my neck and even like maybe a year later that I really started realizing that I had something to say.”

Misanthropy in an Age of Propaganda

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We have become// the sum of our appetites,/ the growth curve of our dominion.

The Walk of Shame

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There it was One abandoned high heel shoe on the sidewalk Could have been Some kind of robbery Though Maybe it was just The beginning of the Walk of shame

Improvisation on a few lines by Mark Strand

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I am tripping on poetry. Purple ink drips from my eyes like ergot of rye.

On A Carport in Bethlehem

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I can hear soft rain

Dark

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Slowly, she eased me into my place where I melted into the dark seat

Island Numbers

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an island hidden in the sound holds treasure

Upon a Time

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then all crawl out from the wreckage to begin a dance lasts all night so by morning we'll be tired surprised we're still upright

#53 Cut Up

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I loved her when she first came calling in the sodden dawn of spring. She was a strange and dangerous flower. Together we drank up all the money. The days staggered away like drunks lurching down a flophouse hall.

we used to drop her off along the way

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We do it all the time...

SNIPS & SNAILS & PUPPY-DOG TAILS IS THE *LEAST* OF IT! by Ranting Bitch in a Cold, Cold World

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Portrait of the Author as a Poet

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I am an awful poet.

The Thing on Marlow Street

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After all, if she could get through World War II with no more than a couple of letters and numbers on her arm, she could, sure as hell, get through this.

Flower Power

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"Poets are damned but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of the angels."--William Carlos WilliamsThere is something beautiful I want to say to you that doesn't seem to make much more sense in a box of clever words like this one. It feels closer to…