Most read stories

Stinking oil

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When were you flash frozen?

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

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.

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

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

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Two titans move opposite one another

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…

Untitled

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the colors of the night

Florida Dreams of Peru

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

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

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…

If the Shoe Fits

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

Portrait of a Dead Princess

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

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

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.

Female Scent-Marking in the Suburbs

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We watched through the plate glass window, like kids watching a mother guppy eat her young. A woman approached the sweaters but stopped suddently, as if she sensed the dark force Darth Vader projects in Star Wars movies.

jewels

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it is said to make your manliness last forever

After Appomattox

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The renegade states- Virginia, Georgia,/ Texas, and the rest- should have lost their names

Of the FTC and the Human Condition

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Humanity comes without a choice

Shade to Shade

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Cathy told the boy to sit in the seat behind her, and gave him her scarf for his face. He nodded and plucked the scarf gingerly from her hands, suspending it between the clean thumb and ring finger on his left hand.

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.

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

Section 8

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To a desert island I pick a book of crosswords for my one item. It is a desert island. What could be more practical? I awake in the middle of the night, an itch in my throat. I blow my nose. Weird gobbets of blood ring my Kleenex. It drizzles out now, wet here, gelatinous…

Self Portrait Without Colors

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