Most read stories

7th Avenue Local

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The harsh lights of the 7th Ave. Local revealed dark circles that had remained hidden during Vivian’s performance.

A Haiku In Spirit But Not In Form On the Fine Art of Sumo

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Two titans move opposite one another

I Thought

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I thought we ended things a long time ago

Tons

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Drink tons of water they keep telling me...

Edward Ogle the Second

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doomsday kittens

Hearing the Usual Reports

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In its own defense against what is too concrete the mind allows a magical thought--

The Knife Edge

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Max understood this perfectly and could easily picture the slow-motion buckling of the spars and the accordion collapse of the fuselage as the propeller blades’ churned up the ground.

Afton Mountain

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fog settles over the mountain laying a ghostly blue shroud

Who Was This Guy

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Luke and Diane sat at a round white table looking around the room. There were clusters of people forming an archipelago of cordial exchange and small talk. All but a few were strangers, friends and family of his sister-in-law Mary, now a widow, though the word sounded…

Butterfly Morning

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We woke up and we were whirlpools of spilt turquoise oil / with wings for flying

The Angel with The Broken Wing

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"She was like a perimeter guard for an advanced race of beings who looked human but were somehow para-human entities focused only temporarily within this dimension."

The Gift

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and oh how serratedly so

Portrait of a Dead Princess

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Extrapolate, interpolate/ to add imaginary flesh// to fragmentary bones.

A Good Provider

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She looked over from the passenger seat at her husband and smiled. It had been twenty years. She hadn't expected him to remember. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, placed her hand on his thigh.“We'll be home soon enough,” he said. He was not…

He's All Man--And He's All Mine

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My man’s got a habit that’s kinda strange. I’ve got a feeling he’s never gonna change. Whenever I take a trip, when I git back, my underwear’s ripped.

Broadloom

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I have constructed this emotion with tinfoil and stilts. I wear the mask of a typewriter. I have roots in Minnesota. I have a glass hat and a junkyard monstrosity pregnant with parables.

LEAVES

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...black birds fall from trees...

Untitled

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the colors of the night

Handicapping the Saints

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I've been a fan of hagiography—the lives of the saints—since first grade when Claude Dunham and I were asked to represent St. Stephen and St. Sebastian, two martyrs of the early church, in a tableau vivant of bored boys.

Florida Dreams of Peru

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Kiln dried mummies, landscape of once were alpacas. / Now all the wool is farmed in Alva

Each Planned to Kill the Other

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What was heinous about it was how easy I assumed it would be. That was truly heinous, and it was a mistake in the end to think of it that way. But I’ve learned from what’s heinous. I’ve bought a plastic cylinder filled with nylon zip ties. They’re great f

If the Shoe Fits

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I didn’t say to eat your keys and parrots. It was peas and carrots. Idiot!

Giving Birth to the World

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Life's a contradiction.

Self Portrait Without Colors

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I am the ritual/ banalities of days numbered,/ numberless, and numb.

The House on El Nino Diablo Court

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On a cold, dark night near to All Hallows' Eve in October of 1930, I was summoned by Constable John Wakefield to the house of Vernalier Driscoll. The constable was wild-eyed and very nervous, his hair appeared to be standing on end.

The Immunodeficiency Of Our Collective Hearts

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a set of 4 poems

Wolf - Variation 5

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his eyes see blood as circumstance.

Dissecting

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skin is soft and too easily sliced away

Masquerade III

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. . . he's of mixed race. Along with European blood, he's got Mexican Indian and African blood. Here's the irony. He don't look nothing like a white European man but he thinks like one.

Brucey

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I kept my seat. Passengers packed in the aisle weren't moving and until they were, neither was I.