Most read stories

Rocking the Oldies: A Cautionary Tale

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We didn't know what what we were reading meant. We didn't even know if we were reading it right. In fact, we suspected that we probably were not.

Where I Sit Here Clad in Armour by the Stars

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Where I sit here clad in armour by the stars, I do not think of you; those thoughts are over. Beneath the silver here is light enough, To make me ponder by a lighter way. Beyond the bronze óf our sun and the others That haply rein the…

The Unseen Hand Shuffles the Deck

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2008Not a bubble burstbut a trust ruptured.The guilty don't survivebut, rather, thrive. 2011The monied are superior.They game the system well.As we work harder, longer,their paper fortunes swell.2017Marie and Louie were monied once.The Romanovs as well.Fast as blades and…

Here, You Are Alive

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He doesn't tell her that he is married, and that his five year old daughter who is living at your house has a mother back in that same city

Fugue No. 3

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The falcon cannot hear the falconer. The rain comes down in sheets.

My Girlfriend The Night (Vigil, Rain, and the Round Beet Sun)

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The sun was a red beet and it waited low in the sky but I didn't know for what reason. You could look right at it and forget for an instant about tenement buildings and hydro lines, or the dirty city in general. I tied my shoes and got some water…

the last day of the world

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I thought that was the last day of the world (when I floated up near your ceiling,) but it was the first. I thought I had seen the worst. But that was nothing. I know you had no idea what was coming when I first met you. But when we looked in each other

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.

One Amber Down, Two to Go

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I am brave, I am sexy, I am strong

Together in Tuscany

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Here comes the bus. It’s going to Tuscany and is full of pronouns: he, she, me, you, it, them, us, we, and you again.

The Blood and the Bulb

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I had laid my hand down hard upon a long forgotten shard of an old coke bottle. The cut is deep.

Voices of the Dying

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raging on road and page

For the Record

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As being ebbs it deepens. The mind grows truant. We inhabit a permanent Saturday.

Miriam

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When daybreak comes, it falls a pall pást mé, For it descends too soon for woken sight to see A shade of any gladness in its dew's first blisters: All my dreams of daylight are in darkling whispers Of…

Denouement

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No one has the right/ to script how someone dies.

Release My Pajamas

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And then I heard “Yea, for I have seen the Father The Son, and the Holy Toast” Okay now, something up was weird

Happiness

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Sometimes the universe is a coin flipping so fast it’s hard to see which side is polished and shiny.

The Mate

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It sits there, watching, waiting, multiple cycles over.

Portrait without Birds

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so Tippi has no interest

Why I Gave Up on Math and Began My Big Fat Writing Career

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I’d met this crowd of drunken poets from San Francisco Even though this was smack dab in the middle of winter Smack dab in the middle of the flattened Illinois plains Why they all left San Francisco I’ll never completely understand But there we we

Waiting for Lunch

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The banality of his own state of boredom, a luxury to be satiated with violence, to hack with an axe the exposed neck of his friend.

Pitcher

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the shape only adhering

Ink on Paper

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Waves like lovers gather and crest, crash into White uncertainty.

Lunch, daily.

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She’s not settling. She can learn to like this.

Broken

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I rang the doorbell. Claire opened the door, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. I opened my arms to give her a big hug. She stiffened and pulled away. Stunned, my lips parted, but I couldn’t think of a single word to say. Ideal, Phillis. ”Broken”, Pure

If I Was a Bum

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If I was a bum I’d risk everything For a drink or a smoke. I would beg and curse and steal If I was a bum. If I was a bum I would cuss out the Pope. I would not vote for anyone Because I would know truly They’d be telling gross lies.

The Ones Who Are Left Behind

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The women, I think, Handle it better than The men. The men just stare Straight ahead Vacantly Hollow-eyed Lonely. The women more Fulfilled by their lives, Having always Expressed their love. The men, Not so much. And find

Five Million Yen: Chapter 22

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-Looks like you could use some light, Austerlitz, said one of the men in a heavy Russian accent, or perhaps you prefer the dark?

Fun With Death at the Funeral Directors Convention

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“How about licensed-character theme funerals for kids who die young?” I asked, broaching a sensitive subject. “Do you think they’re”–I hesitated–”a money maker?”

Mercury Unbound

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