Most read stories

2+2=4

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that's all you'll find.

Tincture Shunt Lunch Box

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Most people don't understand what it's like being a pop idol. I am not most people. I am Tincture Shunt, and here I present you with my trajectory to stardom, in case you want to copy it for your own personal use. Unfortunately (for…

Anselm Kiefer Painting, 1

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The damaged sky is not more black than your hair, Ashen tonight and floating over the land in blackened Smoke, where the furrows run with milk light Or snow, blue and white, and the world-ash floats. Your patient body sleeps and the white pain

Easter

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This was how he circumnavigated people, bartering like a viking setting prices on the edge of an ax-blade.

War ; a fragment

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Lela, my grandmother.

Burial of the Dead

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No canopic jars and fine Egyptian cotton.

The Bridge

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And the urban sprawl doesn’t hesitate. All around me, I taste the aftermath of bricks, dust and dirt, freshly laid concrete slabs.

Philip and Gene

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Our lives are lived backward in memory...

No Fat Chicks

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I have to look closely to be sure But they are there Bold stickers on three sides of the truck's cab Porcine cartoons Cutely admonishing No fat chicks! I am enraged Who does this guy think he is? This contractor's helper who makes …

Oh Captain, Good Captain: Part I

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I once knew a sailor...

what time is it really is it?

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. . . the roar of fire speaks lasting heat . . . .

ALL SMOKE RISES. The story of Lilly and her need for MILK-BLOOD

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Lilly was anything but a white flower. Her skin had been blackened and burnt. Charred legs and arms stuck out like tiny tree limbs, the knuckles on her fingers barely covered by skin. The child’s face is frozen in the beginnings of a scream. She seems anc

Bean Bag Chair

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Up to the loft we went, shedding clothes all the way. No one is home, but the place smells like the fresh cookies my mom had made before she left. It's dark and my lips hit his…

In the Sequence of Events

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Eroica sprawled among/ the horns and violins

black

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my soul is black and it's deep like heartbreak and heavy as stone and as thick as ink and it is pressing on top of me like last nights one night stand like dead weight so that I can't lift my arms or spread my legs it feels like I am walking through mud but it's…

Smack

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They shoot up through the soles of their feet once the veins in their arms are all used up. They shoot up in their necks like the cows on the African Savannah

To The Guy Who Sat Next To Me On The Flight Home From Amsterdam

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I guess you felt more comfortable holding your Moby Dick

Lilies

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Every spring, outside on the back deck, my mother and I have the same talk about how time flies, and she always waves her hand in the air as if swatting at a fly, but there's never anything there. She thinks the lilies will live all summer spread like a rainbow,…

Of the Terrible Angels and Their Fleshy Conduits

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Other pathways are more satisfactory. They are more closely attuned to music of the other world. Even so, the heat eventually burns them up.

The Blues

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I was sitting at the barFeeling the blues after workDrinking my 64 0z pitcherOf beerBody hurting all overAnd this kid begins to talk to meAbout how drinking is killing myBrain cellsAnd of course i have heard thisShit all beforeYet i act dumb all the sameLike really? I did…

Pharaoh's Revenge

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The first intimation that something was afoul was when his computer crashed.

The New Poetry

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The new poetry comes in shining metal boxes covered in glass so you can peer in.

The Garage Sale

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She excelled at plowing forward. He excelled at staying in one place. Eventually the distances got too great and she put an ocean between them.

Almost Regrettably Useless Advice

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This world is always at least as strange as it seems, but usually far more strange, so many non-repeatable phenomena . . . .

remembering

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I remembered because the man took us to see the horses. I didn't see something that set off a series of memories. I only saw the stables and the moon sitting pensively below the firmament. I looked at these and there was spaciousness between the moon and the stables and…

The Little Dalai Lama at Grand Central Station

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He followed me through the crowds at Grand Central Station. Wherever I went, there he was, half my height, dressed in the characteristic gold and maroon garb, with a paper cup of coffee in his hand. He must have sensed something about me. Th

Song: Three Good Hubcaps, music by Tom Casesa

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

Free As A Bird

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The cell was crowded, barely enough room to swing a cat.

Skindeep

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I feel a hand on my leg, and look down to see the little girl touching the horse on my ankle.

Portrait of the Author as a Poet

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I am an awful poet.